


Cohabitation

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Stargate - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Modification, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Goa'uld (Stargate), Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Transformation, Unethical Experimentation, post AC3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: symbiosis/ˌsɪmbɪˈəʊsɪs,ˌsɪmbʌɪˈəʊsɪs/- interaction between two or more different organisms living in close physical association, typically to the advantage of both- a mutually beneficial relationship between different people or groups.- origin: late 19th century: modern Latin, from Greek sumbiōsis ‘a living together’, from sumbioun ‘live together’, from sumbios ‘companion’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Nimadge, many thanks
> 
> WARNING FOR MEDICAL EXPERIMENTATION STUFF THAT MAY SQUICK PEOPLE. think of the worst medical/biological stuff in SGA and SG1 (The Wasps, the wraith ship thing, the Anna/Sekhmet thing, everything Michael...) Also in later chapters there will be alien biology stuff. And probably alien sexy stuff. Yep.
> 
> Also fictional medical science, I don't really care how accurate it is.

Shaun rubs his hands together, trying to stop himself from fiddling. He's not nervous, per se, more… anxious. And there's a difference there, despite what Rebecca thinks – nervous implies that something is wrong. Anxious is just anxious.

"Shaun," Rebecca says. "It's almost time."

"I can read a clock, thank you, Rebecca," Shaun says, and grimaces. "Should've made some tea."

"We can have victory tea afterwards," Rebecca says and pats his shoulder. "Or, you know, the other thing. I got a whole new bottle of bourbon and everything, just in case. Should go well with tea."

"You are a barbarian, Rebecca – bourbon, honestly, as if that is in any way suitable…" Shaun starts, but he's not really feeling it. He sighs, running a hand over his neck. "Christ. You think we got it, that we really got it right this time?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," Rebecca agrees and checks her watch. "And that's time."

They look towards the screen and – like clockwork – the screen is overtaken by a call window, flashing _incoming call_ at them. Shaun glances at Rebecca, who arches her brows and nods. Shaun hits _accept_. There's a moment of tense quiet before the call connects and the black space on the screen is replaced by an image of Bill Miles, from across the continent.

 _"Shaun, Rebecca,"_ he says, and he sounds… weary. _"It's good to see you well."_

"You too, Bill," Rebecca agrees, though Bill doesn't look good at all. The man looks drained, his cheeks are hollow and there are shadows under his eyes – and his hair, it looks like, is going white.

"It's good to see you," Shaun agrees. "We, uh. We have something. It's about Desmond."

Bill stills for a moment, and it almost looks like there's a lag and the video stopped streaming. Then the man speaks. _"You've finished the investigation,"_ he says, inflectionless.

"I believe we have all the data now, everything we're going to be able to get here, anyway," Shaun says awkwardly. "Our – recruit at the Abstergo Entertainment proved to be pretty handy – we got a lot of useful files through her, and… there were some concerning Desmond."

"It's not pretty, Bill," Rebecca warns beside him.

 _"No, I didn't think it would be,"_ Bill says through the speakers, not moving. _"Start from the beginning, tell me everything."_

Shaun nods and opens the first file. "Abstergo got to him pretty soon after we left – the Solar Maximum wasn't even over when they got to the Grand Temple. As far as we know, the Temple itself was completely fried in the process – Abstergo didn't stick around for long and, as you know, they blew up the entrance… but anyway. Absatergo's Sample Recovery Unit 3 recovered the body."

It's been months now, since the superflare and since Desmond died, but hearing the recording from the Sample Recovery Unit's team lead doesn't make for an easy listening. The way they talk about Desmond, like he's just a thing… a pile of DNA to be preserved.

"They're using his DNA samples for their entertainment now, literally – the damn video game they're making, it's based on Haytham's father, Edward Kenway. Turns out, he was a famous pirate during the Golden Age of Piracy," Shaun mutters. "Take that as you will. Abstergo also dissected Desmond's personal belongings, what few he had on him, and hacked his phone – got access to the recordings we've already heard. Not much new there."

 _"But there is something new,"_ Bill guesses, folding his arms. _"Otherwise you wouldn't have made this a priority call."_

Shaun glances at Rebecca, who rests her arm on the backrest of her chair, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, there's something," Rebecca says, turning the chair slightly. "We've been keeping up with their Animus development, of course – and this new tech they're using, which can just… read people's DNA samples, never mind if the person they belong to is there or not… it doesn't need that much DNA. Couple of vials of blood is more than enough for them to mine as much data – and a lot more – than they're doing here for the Sample 17 project."

"What Rebecca is trying to say is that they don't need Desmond's whole body for what they're doing here, not by a long shot," Shaun says.

 _"Hmm,"_ Bill answers. _"I assume it's not there, then."_

"Not that we could find it. The best we could get was records of the blood samples they used to get the ball rolling," Shaun says. "It seems the technology they use now completely disintegrates the sample used – but again… just blood will do. Saliva is probably good enough, too."

"Which then begged the question, what did they do with the body?" Rebecca says.

"Which is what we set out to find out next – after we were sure we got everything we needed at Abstergo Entertainment, and that… Juno wasn't about to… do anything," Shaun makes a face. "It wasn't easy, but eventually we found this – in the bin, as it was, email draft someone wrote, saved and then failed to delete."

 

> From: IohannKeffler@abstergo.org  
>  To: IsabelleArdant@abstergo.org  
>  Concerning: S17
> 
> We have been running a number of preliminary trials on S17, and I believe Doctor Vidic must have underestimated – or perhaps, underplayed – the serious significance of this genome. S17 DNA isn't just high in the percentile of Precursor DNA – near perfect triple helix, as you know – but it is… something else.
> 
> In our initial trials we thought that we might have gotten a faulty sample, that there might have been a breach of containment during delivery – the test results were _abnormal_ to say at least, indicating the presence of… I don't even know how to put it. I thought some sort of bacteria must have gotten into the samples, at first, despite no evidence of it… but subsequent tests with further samples all corroborated to our initial results.
> 
> Firstly, DNA splicing proved out to be a failure at every turn. Whatever it is about the triple helix structure that makes S17 DNA so robust, it shatters like a diamond struck at fault line if you try and cut it – even CRISPR tools cannot cut into it safely. Every chromosome we have attempted to unravel and take apart has suffered immediate catastrophic collapse. This might be an installed security feature – as you know, S17 DNA seems to be the result of a long winded eugenics program, and it is likely the Precursors didn't want to risk having their genetic engineering tampered with.
> 
> All is not lost, however – for while testing the chromosome integrity against various external influences, we discovered a remarkable ability it has. We ran it through the usual tests, radiation, temperature, pressure, until we came to the bacterial and viral tests. And the results were incredible.
> 
> Not only did none of our usual targeted viral and bacterial samples do little to no damage to the samples we subjected them to – but for the lack of a better word… the cells _ate_ the attackers. And when we ran the samples through our scanners, we found the cells subsequently altered. The sample cells had taken the DNA of the viruses and the bacteria, assimilated it into themselves, and the cells became thus completely immune.
> 
> We are still running more tests, but I think I can say, with good confidence, that we have found our keystone.  S17 chromosomes are still alive and capable of… evolving. If anything, they are capable of cannibalising foreign DNA for their benefit.
> 
> I am moving now onto testing the S17 DNA with the Sekhmet samples  – because if S17 can assimilate viral and bacterial DNA… perhaps it can assimilate its DNA. Should the test prove positive, I respectfully request larger sample of S17 DNA to use in further experiments.
> 
> I look forward to your positive reply.  
>  Dr. Keffler

Shaun waits until Bill finishes reading, and when the Mentor looks up to the camera with a frown, he nods. "Yeah, we weren't sure what it meant first either, there's never been any mention of Sekhmet in any files we've seen. Aside the obvious connection to Egyptian mythology, of course..."

"I ran some tests with the Animus on the samples of Desmond's blood we still have in storage," Rebecca says quietly. "They're still alive, all the cells – and what Keffler found here is about right. Desmond's chromosomes are DNA cannibals – if you poke at them with foreign DNA, they go all Borg at it."

 _"…Borg… at it?"_ Bill repeats, dubiously.

"Pop culture sci-fi reference, never mind, Bill," Shaun says. "Desmond's DNA is capable of assimilating foreign DNA. Don't ask us how, we haven't a clue. It has something to do with the ribozymes, the weird ones triple helix people have – and it turns out Desmond's chromosomes are covered with the stuff."

"We just never noticed it before because… we never had any reason to poke at his cells with foreign DNA," Rebecca says, looking away. "I bet if you'd given him a blood transfusion, it wouldn't have even mattered if the blood type matched.

 _"Right,"_ Bill says, grim. _"And then? Did you learn anything more?"_

"Not as such – but Keffler was transferred pretty much immediately after," Shaun says and folds his arms. "From Paris to New York – to their stem cell research laboratory. And since then, the said laboratory's budget has been quadrupled, and they've gotten 230% increase in staffing. And also electricity costs. Haven't been able to get in yet – but we did manage to find a shipping manifest for equipment they received not much after Keffler took over."

He sends the manifest over and Bill looks over it quickly. _"Nothing seems unusual,"_ he comments. _"That looks like fairly standard equipment for an Abstergo laboratory."_

"Look at the thirty fourth item on the list," Shaun says.

 _"… Unit AWS12.2?"_ Bill asks and frowns. _"I'm not familiar with it."_

"Neither was I, so I did some digging into it and eventually found it from some of the much older Abstergo projects – this one is from the fifties," Shaun explains. "It's from the time Abstergo got their hand on what they thought at the time was a sample of pure Isu DNA – back around the PRsuperior project. I'm not sure if you remember that one –"

 _"Vaguely, it was deemed a failure – the DNA sample came from a Sage, didn't it?"_ Bill says, frowning a little.

"Yes, it did – but one of the technologies they invented at the time were the AWSes. Artificial Womb Systems," Shaun says with a grimace. "Because they thought that they could, eventually… clone a real life Precursor."

Bill squints at him through the camera for a moment. _"Artificial –"_ he stops and leans back on his chair. _"How advanced is the technology?"_

"As far as we know, it's… semi-functional," Rebecca says. "They didn't really have any reason to develop it – but they did figure out how to replicate the conditions of a human womb in a… basically a big test tube. Everything but the placenta, the AWS can supply."

Bill is darkly quiet for a moment. _"You suspect they might be trying their hand at cloning, again?"_ he asks then.

"Hard to say – but I'd bet on anything that's where they've taken Desmond's body," Shaun says. "All mentions of Subject 17 were scrubbed from their servers shortly afterwards – the only reason they haven't purged _Sample_ 17 from Abstergo Entertainment files is because the shareholders were already informed about it, so they can't do it cleanly."

_"And this Sekhmet, any idea what that is?"_

"Judging by the usage of the term, and the context it came up in… some sort of a DNA sample," Shaun says.

"One they maybe haven't managed to crack yet," Rebecca says. "But if they can marry Desmond's DNA with this Sekhmet… whatever it is, it might become legible in the Animus. Or… worse."

Worse being the realm of true crazy science of human cloning and genetically engineered babies. Considering their capabilities, it's something of a surprise they _hadn't_ yet. Abstergo is certainly hadn't been shy about following in the footsteps of their Precursor predecessors, where it comes to human resources.

Bill is quiet for a while, digesting the news, staring at nothing. Shaun waits as patiently as he can, even though it feels like his insides are buzzing with urgent energy. It has been months, and Bill has been… withdrawn lately, more so than usual. Before now they didn't have much to give him, but now, maybe…

 _"Very well,"_ Bill says finally and looks up. _"Pack up and head to New York. I'm going to begin coordinating our efforts here and then meet you there."_

Shaun and Rebecca exchange glances. "So…" Rebecca says slowly. "We're gonna do something about this?"

 _"Yes,"_ Bill says grimly and moves to stand up. _"We are doing something about this. Call me when you get to New York."_

The call cuts off there, leaving Shaun and Rebecca alone in their dingy Vancouver apartment. They're quiet for a moment, just staring at the empty call window, and then they share looks, releasing slow breaths.

"I guess we should get packing," Shaun says then. "Again. Delightful."

"Join the Assassins, see the world, move every couple of months…" Rebecca says and smiles. "Part of the deal. You want some tea now?"

"No bourbon," Shaun says quickly.

"Philistine," Rebecca answers.

"No, that is _not_ – first of all, no, second of all, _no_. The word you're trying to go for is _teetotaller_ , which I am also not, except when it comes to adding completely unsuitable things to tea – and also the swill you drink isn't even tea, it's… sugar water with flavour added in," Shaun complains. "No bourbon."

"First of all," Rebecca answers from the kitchen, mimicking him, "Iced tea is _delicious_ , you _puritan_ –"

"Stop using words wrong, Rebecca, you're causing me actual pain here -"

"And second of all, bourbon can be celebratory too," Rebecca says and comes back with the offending bottle of iced tea along with the bottle of bourbon and a pair of glasses. "And this calls for a celebration, Shaun. We're getting him back."

"Maybe," Shaun says, grimacing. "If he is there."

"No other place he could be," Rebecca says, and sets the glasses down. "We're getting him back."

"You're counting our chickens a bit early here," Shaun complains. "Things haven't been going very well lately, as far as getting back _anything_ Abstergo took goes -"

" _Shaun_ ," Rebecca says and pours for them, handing him a glass of the no doubt terrible too sweet swill. Desmond would be ashamed of them. "We know where he is, and Bill is with us on this. We're getting him back and we're laying him to rest. Now drink – you're shaking."

Shaun breathes out slowly. "We're probably going to die –"

"Just _drink_ , Shaun."

Shaun drinks.

* * *

 

They aren't the only ones who have noticed the decline of the Mentor of the Brotherhood.

While not as beloved as some of their earlier Mentors, Bill has served the Brotherhood well post-purge. Better, really, than most of the Assassins actually realise. Bill had taken the faltering Brotherhood and held it together, recruiting hundreds of new Assassins – Shaun and Rebecca included – to recover their losses and bring them, with a firm hand and relentless pace, to the modern age. Not many like the methods he'd used to get them there, and very few liked him personally, but they all know, they're only there at all because Bill kept them _together_ and then set them apart, sent them out and kept them going.

There's something comforting in having a complete asshole in charge. You might not like it much, but… they get shit done.

Only, Bill hadn't been getting much anything done, in the last few months. After the Flare he had just sort of… deflated. He'd withdrawn, he'd let the Assassin teams use their own judgement, he didn't bark as many orders, didn't demand as many explanations, or reports, or even… status updates. Eventually, Shaun and the other tacticians across the Brotherhood had banded together to sort of shadow manage everything, while Bill just... didn't.

The metal in his spine had rusted over and bent. And they all noticed it – and felt its effects. And those effects, despite how much they'd all moaned about what a hardass he was before… they weren't good.

It probably explains why now that Bill put in an iron-clad order and called in all available assassins, all available assassins actually showed up. There are Assassins from all over the world there – Maenstranzi is there, Jazz, Milton, even Gavin had came off the ship for this one. The hideout they all meet – a repurposed old mall – is packed to the brim with Assassins – most of them are even wearing hoods for the occasion.

"Now would be a terrible time to find a spy in our ranks," Shaun mutters, looking at the crowd milling about in the lower floor of the mezzanine of the mall's central area. "One bomb and we're all out."

"Knock on wood," Rebecca says, looking more amazed by the gathering than worried. "Though we have, what, five, four people with Eagle Sense here? You think we could have a security breach with that?"

"It's happened before," Shaun says and then looks up – along with everyone else – as Bill steps up to a baluster on the second floor of the mezzanine, where everyone can see him.

The murmur – not very loud to begin with, they are Assassins, after all – quiets down before he can even call for attention, and everyone looks up to Bill. He still looks under the weather and his temples have gone completely white – but there's a little bit of that iron there, little bit of steel in his eyes.

"Thank you all of for coming on such short notice," Bill says. "There isn't much time, chances are Abstergo is already aware of our movement, so I will make this brief. Abstergo is back on cloning – they have restarted the old projects here, at their stem cell research laboratory in New York, and now they have access to what might allow them to perfect their research…"

The brief Bill gives is, well… brief and it brooks no arguments. How truthful it is, Shaun isn't sure – they don't precisely _know_ if Abstergo are working on cloning, it could be any number of experiments involving artificial wombs, they could be recreating prehistoric dinosaurs for all they know. It is sort of the most likely scenario though.

It's not why everyone is there, though.

"They are using the DNA… of my son in this project," Bill says to the crowd, who are listening in absolute silence. "I would rather they did not. Now, this mission is not vital, I am only looking for volunteers –"

That's about as far as he gets before every assassin in the room, in one body, takes a step forward – a proper military agreement. It's actually kind of moving, in a truly messed up Assassin way – there's some two hundred complete loners here, most of these people haven't worked with another Assassin probably _ever,_ but…

They all feel it. This is going to be the last mission Bill will send any one of them on.

On the second floor, Bill bows his head slightly and nods. "We have limited time," he says. "Let's get to work. Tacticians, up on the second floor, please."

Shaun nods and moves to follow the order, but Rebecca stops him with a hand at his wrist.

"I'm joining the techies," she says. "Start setting up monitors and such. If you'll go out, you come and get me."

Her voice is final.

"Of course," Shaun says, and grips at her wrist. "You have your headset, I have mine – I'll keep you up to date."

She nods, squeezing his wrist and then releasing. With a last look at her, Shaun turns for the broken down escalator – really, this is the Ritz of hideouts – and then heads up, following the trail of familiar tacticians and historians already heading up.

"This is the stuff you've been working on?" Mark asks, as Shaun brushes by him. "Up in Vancouver? They got Sample 17 thing going up there too, right?"

"Yeah – they're turning one of his ancestors into a video game. It's absolutely _delightful_ ," Shaun says bitterly. "How's things in Los Angeles?"

"Same old, same old," Mark says. "Been working on getting a lead on Rikkin's daughter – there are rumblings about her."

"Rumblings?" Shaun asks sarcastically.

"Apparently she's completely nuts and probably about to take over the Animus project," Mark says apologetically.

" _Christ_."

Then they fall silent, as they come to Bill by the glass baluster, overlooking the crowd of Assassins. Bill turns to them and picks him from the crowd, motioning him to come closer. Great – if he'd known, he would've prepared a PowerPoint.

"Right," Shaun says, as Bill steps back to let him take over the briefing he has done zero preparation for. "Quick and dirty of it is that that our target is one of Abstergos' highest security facilities," he starts. "Rumour has it, it's where they are, among other things, compiling all things Precursor DNA related – it's also where they unearthed the triple helix DNA in the first place. It's quite possibly the very beating heart of their Lineage Acquisition and also the Abstergo department – so… security is going to be heavy. Devices, everyone."

The other tacticians quickly take out their pads, their phones, Shaun taking out his and then sharing his files on the laboratory with everyone. "No public blueprints we can use, and we haven't so far managed to get into internal networks – however, visual examination on the area has found cameras in the locations marked on the map number 8. Security is obviously high, thirty to fifty security guards at least – plus other personnel. All armed and none will be happy to see us."

"I have some drones with me – latest models, almost completely silent," one of the tacticians pipes up. "Erudito's latest. I can do a sweep of the area, maybe even sneak one or two in. They're pretty versatile."

"It's going to have to be during the assault, we can't give them any warning," Shaun says. "We'll set up an interactive map we can fill up as we go in."

"Do we even know where the laboratory we need is?" Mark asks, lifting his hand like a school boy.

"No, we do not," Shaun admits. "We are woefully underprepared and short on intelligence. So we will have to coordinate our teams to get intelligence, as quickly as they can, on the fly. We're likely going to need technicians in the field – volunteering myself here first, of course –"

"If you're coordinating this, then you should stay –"

"Alright, volunteering is a wrong word, I'm _going_ ," Shaun amends, firm. "Rebecca Crane from my team is coming with me – but we alone likely won't be enough. We need at least a couple more to maximise efficiency. Technicians with established teams, preferably."

Gratifyingly, there are several hands that go up in air.

"Good," Shaun says, blowing out a breath, and glances back at Bill, who is nodding along grimly. "Let's start coordinating efforts then."

* * *

 

The assault begins that night, and it's, in a word… striking. It has been a long time since this many Assassins were in one place at one time, working on the one thing. Not since the times of yore and war, really, back when they were still more involvement in outcomes of international conflicts. Time before Abstergo, really – having one centralised enemy has made things simpler. It has also eradicated the need of Assassin _armies_.

This might very well be the first and last of its kind, in the 21st century – a special event. And they're raiding a laboratory. It's almost a shame, to waste such a wealth of numbers on something like that. It feels like they should be raiding a castle, not a basement.

But nothing less would do.

"For Desmond," Rebecca murmurs at his side, and hands him his blade.

"And for Lucy," Shaun agrees, strapping the thing in.

"And Clay, too, the poor bastard," Rebecca sighs, sadly.

"Yeah, our generation of Assassins is quite thoroughly buggered, isn't it?"

Rebecca snorts, and that's about as much pre-game banter they get. Their window of optimal entry is small – work shift change at the building, when the evening shift workers head out while the night shift heads in. Ten minutes of people moving about – ten minutes of potential crowds to hide in… ten minutes of laboratories being hopefully empty.

 _"Eagle 2,"_ a voice says into Shaun's headset. _"Twenty seconds to first mark."_

"Copy that, Nest," Shaun answers and then motions to the team he's leading. "Seventeen seconds. Sixteen…"

Elsewhere, the technicians and tacticians back at the hideout short out power. Elsewhere, traffic lights would get mixed up and cause a jam. Elsewhere, communications would be cut. Elsewhere, Assassins are moving into place to dismantle or otherwise disrupt cameras. Pieces on a chess board, moving into positions.

"Three," Shaun counts, "Two. And _move_."

There are sirens wailing somewhere in the city as they move – not as a group, but as clusters of individuals. With hastily made ID cards on lanyards and suitably normal clothes, they're nothing but normal workers hurrying in. They aren't the first team in, either – Eagle 1 is already in, and hopefully messing about enough to disrupt the security at the front.

And they are – Shaun sees them in the corner of his eye, a team of Assassins pretending to be drunken tourists lost, are arguing loudly with the security about this being _totally_ their hotel, _can't they see, didn't they read the sign_. There's photos being taken, which is flustering the guards further, and one of the supposed tourists has a video camera which he's shoving into everyone's faces. It's all very confusing.

"And it's down," Rebecca says, putting away a little gadget as they come to metal detectors – which, just then, malfunction.

"Damn power outs, it's been happening all evening," Shaun says to the man by the metal detectors. "Couldn't even charge my phone – you wouldn't happen to have a line up to level four? My supervisor is going to kill me if I'm late and my phone just died."

"Yeah, yeah – ID please," the man says distractedly, and then lifts a hand to his neck, as something – a tiny little dart, barely visible – hits his carotid artery with perfect accuracy.

The man slumps over, and Shaun and his team move ahead – Eagle 3 would be right behind them, to secure their entry and cover their tracks.

 _"I got into the system, filling in the map now,"_ Mark says over the coms. _"Sublevel 4, laboratory 7 – that's the one assigned to Keffler, and judging by the layout – wait, I just got cameras, Eagle 4 must've gotten – holy_ fuck _."_

"What is it?" Shaun asks, quietly, not moving his lips, while he and the others shuffle along towards the elevators.

 _"Quick, loop it, feed it back in,"_ Mark says to someone back at the hideout. _"Whatever that thing is, I glad I'm not the one who has to deal with it. But, uh, just out of curiosity, in your brush-ins with the Precursor stuff… did aliens come up? Because – the actual movie Alien comes to mind. Christ."_

Shaun shares looks with Rebecca and then they move in faster. "Sublevel 4," he says as his team shuffles into the elevator, and down they go. Shaun holds a hand to his com, and the moment the elevator stops, he says, "Fourth mark."

Somewhere above ground, a car would soon be driving through the building front doors. Never let it be said that when Assassins do diversions, they half ass it.

 _"The cameras are looped,"_ Mark informs him. _"One guard stationed on a booth to the left of the elevators, another is doing rounds up ahead – there's one man in the laboratory, it's not Keffler."_

Shaun motions the Assassins at his back to take care of the security booth, while Rebecca whips out her phone, checking the feed they're getting from other Assassins. Shaun does the same, checking the action at the front and then moving ahead.

 _"Stop,"_ Mark says, waits and then, _"Go now – the security guard is behind the corner. You have fifteen seconds, tops. And someone needs to take down the lab assistant."_

"I got it," Shaun says, checking his bracer. It's been a while since he'd used it in action, but… he's kept in practice.

They slip to the door number four, Rebecca hacks the lock, and opens the door just enough to Shaun to hold his hand in and aim.  The dart flies without sound, and meets his mark at the lab assistant's neck – the man falls, and as he does, Shaun sees what was behind him.

 _Holy shit_ is about right.

 _"You have limited time, Eagle 2,"_ Mark reminds him at his ear, before they can even begin gawking. _"Computers, files, folders, samples. Go."_

"Go, _go_ ," Shaun says too, and together he and Rebecca move towards the computers while the others spread around to check loose files and the… many sample jars around. And – holy shit. There'd been a time during the whole hunt for the Apple of Eden that Shaun had felt a bit like he'd stumbled onto a science fiction set, but this – yeah, Alien is about right.

But there is no time to think about it – they got a mission, and on a limited timeframe too.

Between him and Rebecca, they crack open the computers pretty quick. Shaun glances at the programs, glimpses few folder names – _Sample 17, PET scans, Conversion Reports, EEGs, Biometrics,_ and with a sinking feeling he moves to download all of it, while beside him Rebecca plants transmitters and receivers.

Then, together, they turn to look at… _it_. And bloody hell, it's a sight to behold.

God, Shaun hopes Bill is not seeing this.

"The fuck _is_ that?" one of the other Assassins murmurs.

"It looks like they've… like they're… growing something in –" Rebecca says but can't quite continue, just staring up at… at _it_. Him. No, _it_ is about right. And _it_ might have been a person, once, but… there's not much of a person left in _it_.

Shaun swallows, feeling a little sick and glances around them. There are the AWS, and judging by the looks of it, they'd been discarded – whatever Keffler had tried to do with them, they'd failed. There's a whole row of obviously failed experiments to the side, little tubes like something out of the fucking _matrix_ – only there's no babies, thank god. The shredded remains of whatever was in them cannot be by any definition of meaning be called… anything living.

If Shaun had to guess, he'd say that Keffler had tried to grow something from scratch by using Desmond's DNA and whatever Sekhmet was, and when it had failed… the mad bastard had turned to Desmond. To using Desmond's body… as an incubator.

Shaun is going to be sick.

Later. There's no time now.

"Whatever it is," he says and looks at Rebecca. "We're taking it with us." Right?

She draws a shaky breath and then nods, and with that decided, they get back to work. They have a whole lab to empty, some sort of support system to rig up for… _it_ , and then they have to get out of the lab before Abstergo realised they were under attack. And then…

Then they'd take Desmond back – in pieces, if they had to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning about talk of metamorphic creatures, and of liquefying of things that should not be liquefied. And also gunk. And strangely, weed smoking.

After the mission is done, the Assassins that took part in it scatter like a bunch of feathers thrown into the  wind. It's kind of impressive – the biggest gathering of Assassins there's been in probably a decade, and once their job is done, they just disappear, leaving just Rebecca, Shaun, Bill and Harlan to deal with the aftermath. And even they pack up and just leg it out of New York as fast as they can.

"Mark's team is running interference for us," Shaun reports while Rebecca works on figuring out how the pod's systems work. "Feeding copies of us onto the security cameras and coordinating similar vans across the city – but the sooner we can safely switch vehicles, the better."

"There's a truck waiting for us here," Bill says, pointing on a map. "Just make it there and we can drive right in and will be invisible. Rebecca, any trackers?"

"No – no online connectivity either. This thing is pretty old, the computer is from like the seventies," Rebecca says, while getting into the system files to figure out what it does and what it needs. "Looks like it's basically a big AWS."

"Big project like this, and they decided to use tech from the seventies?" Harlan asks dubiously while moving aside the black plastic covering the pod's and hooking more modern sensors into the glass.

"Cutting corners, saving money?" Shaun suggests. "Though when ever had Abstergo settled on not fixing what's not broken, I would like to know…"

"Could be just paranoia," Rebecca shrugs. "Can't hack what's too old to have any components that can be hacked. This is Desmond's body we're talking about – they must've known we'd come after it."

Except they almost hadn't. And what's left of Desmond's body is...

One of the first things Shaun had done was cover the thing in a trash bag to hide it – Bill had taken one look inside and told them not to remove it. Poor guy, still looks all shaken up, working on a laptop and carefully not looking at the pod.

"Aside from the truck, do we have a destination in mind?" Shaun asks.

"The laboratory in Jersey maybe?"

"No, if the container can take the transport, we're heading further away – the more distance we put between the better," Bill says. "Though staying on the move is preferable."

"Alright, give me a moment, I'll figure it out," Rebecca nods and continues working.

The pod's systems are fairly simple. It has containers of the right elements and chemicals and just enough computing power to keep the pod's environment stable by feeding them in as situation required. As such, it doesn't take much power at all – the stuff Rebecca used for the Animus on the move is easily good enough. The glass is bulletproof too, and the components are similarly tough. The thing was built to last.

Or built to take a beating from whatever beastie one decided to put in there. Abstergo's early experiments in cloning had been so about creating super soldiers with Precursor DNA after all, they would have prepared for setbacks.

"I think we're good to go for about 12 hours with what we have – after that I'm going to need new batteries or an outlet to recharge from," Rebecca says.

"That's good," Bill says, and his hands hesitate on the laptop screen, shaking, as if he wants to close it. He doesn't, handing it over to Harlan instead. "There's a laboratory in Richmond, recent enough that I don't think Abstergo's onto it. We'll head there."

"Right-o," Shaun says. "And after that?"

"After that we figure out where at stand," Bill says, hangs his head and covers his face with both hands.

Rebecca stares at him uneasily, throwing Shaun a look through the rearview mirror and then noticing Harlan's eyes going wide. "What is it?" she asks quietly.

"It's not – good," Harlan says, his finger moving over the touchpad. "These are the files you got from the lab – they, they go back decades. The experiments on S17 –"

"Desmond," Rebecca says, together with Shaun.

"On Desmond," Harlan amends, "started just a few months back, but whatever Sekhmet is, they've been running experiments with it on and off for the better part of fifty years. First with Keffler's father – then with Keffler. The experiments had a number of lulls – all attempts to hybridise Sekhmet DNA with human DNA failed, with only partial successes with Sages and high percentile triple helix DNA carriers – embryos developing to fetuses before failing week or two in. Christ, they tried to make women carry them too – usually ended in death of the carriers."

"Okay, Abstergo is messed up and water is wet, more news at eleven," Shaun says impatiently. "What about what they did with Desmond?"

"Looks like they tried the same thing – human ovums with DNA insertion, in varying quantities, from Desmond and Sekhmet. A lot of failures there," Harlan murmurs, tapping few keys. "Though it looks like the more Desmond's DNA there was present, the longer the experiments survived before ultimately failing. Eventually Keffler moved to experiments without the ova…"

Rebecca looks at the pod, covered in black plastic, nasty feeling in her gut.

"So what, eventually he just smashed Desmond and Sekhmet together and told them to kiss?" Shaun asks sarcastically.

"Basically… yes," Harlan says, sounding a little ill. "Yes he did. They did it about a month ago, and since then the experiment developed into – into that." He motions at the pod.

Bill lets out a sound like a wounded bear. It's a quiet ride after that.

* * *

 

The laboratory that's to be their hideout in Richmond is a bit of a work in progress. It's in the basement of an old asylum, fittingly, with some old and some newer equipment. It does have running water and electricity, which puts it above most of the other hideouts they've had to live in. It's also so far underground and built solidly enough that it's completely blocked out for cellphone signals.

"Well thank God we're none is us scared of horror movies, because otherwise this would be awkward," Shaun comments. "Big spooky lunatic asylum. I wonder if their have electroshock therapy equipment here."

"Padded rooms, beds with restraints," Rebecca comments. "Could have come in handy, before."

"That's nice, Rebecca, that's real nice," Shaun says. Then he hums. "I just bet there's a designated lobotomy room upstairs."

Harlan, looking vaguely ill, glares at them.

"Let's just – set up," Bill says wearily, and Rebecca makes a mental note – no dark humour for Bill.

They set it up in the cleanest basement room they can find, next to a room of showers, which would give them easy access to water. While the guys haul in the equipment from the van, Rebecca sets up the pod, carefully wiring it in and making sure it will always have a backup source in form of batteries and the Gennys they bring in. Wouldn't do to have the thing run out of power on them.

Harlan sets up beside the pod, spreading out his equipment and opening up the files again.

"This stuff sounds like something you lot would be working on with the Animus," he comments. "Apparently the Sekhmet sample came from Egypt – from a tomb – and passed hands from Napoleon down eventually to Keffler's dad, who is, apparently… a nazi war criminal."

"Sounds better and better," Rebecca says, hesitating over the black plastic wrapping and then leaving it on, hiding the interior of the pod. "Anything on what they hoped to get out of this?"

"Originally it was, hmm…" Harlan pauses to read. "Here: _the sample shows remarkable antibiotic qualities and is resistant to all the viral, bacterial and fungal samples exposed to it…_ looks like they were going to get a drug out of it, originally, a some sort of universal immune system booster, but the sample size was too small, so they tried to make more any means they could. Later…"

Shaun walks over to read over Harlan's shoulder before saying, "Move your arse, you're too slow," at which Harlan quickly gives way.

Couple minutes later, Shaun stops. "Oh my god, it's alien," he says.

"What," Rebecca asks.

"It's alien – the Sekhmet sample, it's alien DNA," Shaun says, tapping a few keys. "They found it in like a little stasis pod and everything – definitely not Isu. They got confirmation about it from – NID," he makes a face. "Along with some files about – yeah, I need to look into that later. Anyway, from NID they found out that the DNA – that the _aliens_ , the Goa'uld, are old and highly advanced race with thousands of years on us and... and genetic racial memories."

He lifts his head to look at Rebecca and then at Bill, who takes a slow seat in one of the dingy old chairs found in the asylum. Bill says nothing – he just looks pale and weary.

"They tried to read them on the Animus, but – the genetic structure is too alien, the Animus can't crack it," Shaun says, a little stilted. "So…"

"So they really were using Desmond's DNA to try and make the Sekhmet DNA legible," Rebecca says. "Should've made a bet on this, I would've won."

"Really, Rebecca, do you really think this is the time for that? You have no tact," Shaun says, but relaxes a little.

"Aliens," Harlan says. "Not – not just Precursors, but… aliens. From outer space?"

"No, from Mexico – _yes_ , from space. From apparently thousands of light years away," Shaun says and looks at the pod, looking little disturbed. "And not just Star Trek rubber forehead aliens – no, these are more like the Yeerk."

Rebecca let's out a snort at the look Bill and Harlan give him. "Shaun, you nerd," she says fondly.

"So says the closet nerd, you completely get what I'm saying," Shaun accuses and then explains to the uninitiated: "They're parasites – sort of snakelike parasites in our case, the Yeerk are more like slugs and – never mind. The Goa'uld, they take over a host, wrap around the spine, attach themselves into the nervous system and… basically pilot the host around, like a puppet. Or human mecha."

Okay that… that isn't in any way funny. Especially in light of what happened to Desmond, what Juno did – in light of _everything_ , really. The smile fades from Rebecca's face and she turns to look at Bill, checking for his reaction.

Funny thing is… Bill doesn't look surprised. "And what," he asks, "is happening to Desmond's body now?" he asks.

"Still working on that," Shaun admits, "Rebecca and Harlan probably have a better shot understanding the science."

"Then get to work," Bill says and stands up. "I'm going to guide the truck. Call me once you have something."

"You got it," Rebecca says and they watch as Bill walks away. Then they look at the pod.

None of them moves to take off the plastic.

* * *

 

What is happening is somewhere in the realm of science fiction, really. What had at first seemed like something was growing in Desmond body, draining it for resources like a parasite, is actually more like metamorphoses.

"Like caterpillar to butterfly, or a wasp," Harlan explains to the mostly disturbed audience of Shaun and Bill – Rebecca is just fascinated. "Even Keffler didn't know how it's even possible, but what's happening is that what we see is the shell – a cocoon, a pupa – inside which, the entire biomass of the original body is being –"

"Please, no – no visuals," Bill says, covering his eyes with his hands. "Just tell me what is it turning into?"

"That's – well. We're not sure yet," Harlan admits. "But it could be that this is part of the reproduction cycle of the Goa'uld  –"

"No, according to what Keffler got from the NID, Goa'uld have Queens that give birth to their young – either completely asexually or with a little DNA assistance from suitable source," Shaun interrupts, grimacing. "Definitely no cocoons made of human bodies, though it's not like the alternative is that pretty either…"

"Right – I just wanted to mention it as possibility," Harlan says. "Or could also be the happenstance of two… shall we say, predatory genetic structures coming into contact and causing a spontaneous mutation. There is a theory about creatures that go through metamorphosis – that some, perhaps all metamorphic insects were once two different creatures, and one, such as a wasp, laid eggs in the other, for example a caterpillar, with such frequency that eventually through evolution… it simply became a single lifecycle."

"And here we go with the horrifying mental images," Shaun groans. "

Rebecca is kind of of two minds about how not cool this is. Because, on one hand, caterpillars are freaking cool, she still remembers collecting pupas when she was a kid and watching with fascination as they developed. Metamorphosis is freaking amazing just as a concept, and these little worms made it into reality, growing wings in the process of liquefying themselves. How freaking _cool_ is that?

But on the other hand… it's Desmond. It's Desmond that's being… transformed into… into something else.

" _Christ_ ," Bill says and drags his hands over his face, hard. He looks wearily at the pod and then gets up to rip the plastic off.

What's inside is definitely nowhere near as pretty as butterfly's chrysalis. It's all – ugh. The difference a few million years in pupal evolution makes, huh? Though that's uh, not so nice mental image either, evolution chain that eventually turns humans into metamorphic creatures.

None of them say anything for s long while, just starting at the thing.

"We can't kill it," Bill says, resigned. "Abstergo was developing it for a reason, and if its DNA might grant access to advanced alien technologies, we would be stupid to tamper with it. Tell me, Harlan, how likely is it too develop into a viable… creature?"

"It's hard to say. It's now the longest living experiment with Sekhmet DNA, we're moving into unexplored territory here," Harlan says, eying the pod. "I think all we can do is… wait and see."

* * *

 

And so they wait. They set up shop, choose their bedrooms among the rundown rooms of the asylum and they settle down for the long haul, while outside Abstergo scrambles to find what they lost.

"They weren't very optimistic about the experiment, since it's been consistently failing for decades," Shaun tells her. "But now that we stole it and might stand to actually gain something from it, they're not happy."

"Serves them right," Rebecca says, staring at the pod. She's getting used to how the thing looks, now. Still not pretty, but… you get used to the most gruesome stuff with enough exposure. It's actually starting to get hard to imagine that the thing had ever looked like Desmond.

Fuck, she misses Desmond.

"What are we going to do if it hatches and it's one of those brain parasites?" she asks quietly.

Shaun glances at the pod and then around the room. They're alone – Bill is on a grocery run and Harlan had the night shift, so he's sleeping. "I've got no bloody clue," he says, just as quiet. "I just – I wanted to see him buried, wanted to get – I don't know… closure. Not this."

Yeah, this is the further from closure, isn't it? She can see why Bill would be conflicted – as a dad he would probably want to kill the parasite that's transforming his kid into something he can't recognise, but as the Mentor of the Brotherhood he can't let something like this just slip by, not when there's something to gain from it. Rebecca gets that, and she wouldn't want to kill the thing either, not really, but…

Her mind can't quite figure out if the thing in the pod is Desmond or something that's destroying him.

"Fucking prick, can't even die properly," Shaun mutters and turns away, sniffing, as if Rebecca can't hear his voice faltering. She should do something about that, go to him and pretend it would be alright, but – but if she did and he started to properly _cry,_ then –

Rebecca swallows and turns to check the system, letting Shaun put himself together in the illusion of privacy.

Neither of them says anything for a long moment, working on their separate tasks. "So, Bill knew about aliens," Rebecca says finally.

"Yeah – makes sense, if NID knows," Shaun says, clearing his throat. "We've been trying to get an operative inside for a couple of years now, and according to Bill we've almost succeed – so some intelligence might've have come through."

"What is NID anyway?"

"National Intelligence Department. It's always been a bit of a joke – founded in 1947, you know, after the whole Roswell thing?" Shaun snorts. "No one took them seriously, until a few years back when they suddenly got funding up the wazoo and started rubbing a lot of covert ops. Kinda looked like they were into something all of a sudden, so…"

"Alien technology, huh?" Rebecca asks.

"We thought Precursor, but obviously we were wrong about that one," Shaun says and glances back at her. "Apparently there's space ships, weapons, every technology and stuff to gain from this. If they just could crack a Goa'uld DNA with the Animus… Abstergo would have access to a lot more than just what the Isu left behind. And from what I've been reading, the Goa'uld are right up their alley."

"Abstergo or the Precursors?"

"Both, really," Shaun says and turns to his computer. "Apparently Goa'ulds have stolen humans from Earth, seeded them to other planets and now rule them as false gods."

Rebecca turns to have him. "Seriously?"

"There's also talk of enslaving entire planets," Shaun agrees. "Fun stuff, really. Apparently evilness and megalomania run in their genes too – they're born pretty much evil, thanks to genetic memories."

"Huh. And NID knows about this?"

"As does Abstergo," Shaun agrees. "And of course no one thought to inform the larger public that there are evil aliens out there that might want to enslave is all. As I said, fun stuff."

"Yeah," Rebecca agrees and rubs at her aching thigh. "It's a blast." She really needs a smoke.

* * *

 

The thing she misses the most about Desmond is how easy he made emotions seem. It was just… so easy with him there. He got it without getting emotional about it – you could break down on him, and he would react just how you needed him to, giving the right amount of space and support, never making anyone feel awkward or worse, or – or _anything_ but what they needed to feel in that moment. He just took it, didn't try to hurry it along and didn't make it worse with excess sympathy or…

Shaun is great, and Rebecca knows how to handle him – but she can't break down in front of him. Never has been able to. It's not his fault, but something about him just makes her want to tough it out, to keep it all bottled up. And usually it's fine – or was fine _before_...

But then there was Desmond, and it was a little easier. A little better. And it wasn't just her, either – she'd caught Shaun and Desmond in the shower enough times to know it wasn't just her. Desmond had been just… so easy to be with.

And they'd taken it for granted.

Now there's this Desmond-shaped hole there, and it's just getting wider with the whole pod thing. And space aliens too. And everything else.

Christ, what would they do if the thing hatched and there was suddenly a _slug_ where Desmond had been?

"Hey. Can't sleep?"

Rebecca looks down from the stars she'd been blowing smoke at. It's not Shaun – it's Bill, coming from the shadows, silent. "Evening, Bill. And no, I guess I can't."

Bill moves to sit beside her, and Rebecca lowers the joint, a little awkward. They don't really stand on ceremony and she's off duty – and Bill knows about her self-medication habits and has never seemed to mind. Still, it's a bit awkward to be smoking weed beside your boss.

"Are you sure you should be doing that here?" Bill asks finally.

"Better here than inside – don't want to risk getting smoke into the air filters," Rebecca says. "And Shaun bitches about second hand smoke, so…"

"I meant on the ledge. You might fall."

"Yeah," Rebecca says, peering down. It's not s big fall, just two storeys from the collapsed balcony down to the grass. Nothing like the falls she'd taken when snowboarding. "It's fine. Anything I can do for you, Bill?"

He hums. "You could start by passing to the left," he says.

Rebecca blinks at him, and if she wasn't half way into the joint she would've probably been more stunned. Instead she just goes sort of, "Huh," in amazement and then says, "It's medicinal," kind of dumbly.

"Also therapeutic, according to studies," Bill says and holds out his hand. "I've seen your stash, and it's definitely not prescription standard. Come on."

Rebecca passes him the joint, and oh boy, ain't that wild, watching the Mentor of the Assassins Brotherhood smoking a joint. "So, uh. How are you hanging in there, Bill?" Rebecca asks.

"I'm announcing my resignation tomorrow," he says.

"... Oh."

Well, they knew it was coming. It should've happened a while ago really, but still… a part of her had hoped that maybe he could bounce back from this, but – yeah.

"I will still work as an Assassin, I will see this through," Bill says, "to whatever the conclusion might end up being. But I am stepping down as the Mentor of the Brotherhood."

"Thought of someone to replace you?" Rebecca asks.

Bill nods. "Gavin Banks."

"Right." Makes sense, _Altaïr II_ moves around the world so much that Gavin is in a decent position for a Mentor – mobile, well known, well liked. He's no Bill, though.

And no one is Ezio, no one is even Altaïr.

Bill passes the joint back, and Rebecca takes a drag, thinking about decades seen through the lens of the Animus, the centuries. From military force and a city state in Altaïr's time to cavalcade of thieves and whores and mercenaries in Ezio's time, to completely destroyed Brotherhood in Connor's time and now down to this…

"You know," Rebecca says, her tongue loosened by a smoke. "When I was watching Desmond living Ezio's and Connor's lives, I sometimes imagined how he'd be in like, ten, twenty years. Desmond I mean. With all that experience, all that knowledge… all that _history_. I thought we were making ourselves a future Mentor. You know, after he got some actual real life experience and all that."

Bill draws a sharp breath at that, almost a gasp. He holds it and then releases it shakily in a sigh. Then he says, his voice almost inaudible, "The thought crossed my mind too."

Rebecca passes him the joint again, and they're quiet for a long while, Rebecca peering at the sky, thinking about nothing at all.

Bill leaves first, heading somewhere into the asylum while Rebecca finishes the joint, crushing the bit at the end until it stops smoking and scattering it into the wind. Then she goes inside with every intention to crawl into bed with Shaun.

"... Christ, Rebecca, you _stink_ ," is his only comment, when Rebecca worms her way into the warm place under his arm.

"Your mom stinks," Rebecca answers softly, presses her face into his chest and just breathes.

* * *

 

And they wait. Nothing much really changes for them with Bills resignation. Hephaestus network is revitalised when Gavin and the crew of _Altaïr II_ begin taking charge and asking for status reports, but it's agreed by everyone that Team Bill got their stuff covered and needs no changes or interference. So they're left to just watch as the Brotherhood begins pulling itself together again.

Bill looks a little better though. Still tired and sort of resigned, ironically enough, but some of the stress starts easing off. So that's something.

And the cocoon keeps on being...a cocoon.

"It's definitely still alive… relatively speaking," Harlan says. "There's definitely something going on inside, but we'd need an ultrasound at least to see what."

"According to the files, Goa'uld can't survive in our atmosphere, we can't take the thing out safely," Rebecca says, a little alarmed. "It might kill it."

"No," Bill agrees. "if there's something going on in there, let's let it run its course. It'll have to hatch, sooner or later."

And at first it looks like it's definitely going to be later. Outwardly little charges in the pod – but it still uses the minerals and chemicals which have to be replenished every now and then, so something is happening even if they can't quite see it.

Not until one day she and Shaun head back to take over the watch from Harlan, to find the man asleep at his desk – and the pod cloudy with shredded biomatter.

"Oh my god," Rebecca says and hurries to check the unit while Shaun radios Bill and goes to shake Harlan awake.

"The system is still running," Rebecca says quickly. "Though the filters are completely clogged –"

"What the hell happened?" Shaun asks, while Harlan lifts his head, blinking blearily.

"I don't know, I'm working to find –"

Rebecca stops as something flashes by them inside the pod and Shaun grabs a reflexive hand on her shoulder. "There's something living in there," Shaun says tightly.

"Living and _moving_ –" and, judging by the sudden thud coming from inside the glass, it's colliding with the sides with some speed.

They stare at the cloudy pod for a moment. Then Harlan states the obvious. "It must have hatched."

"You don't say," Shaun snaps and turns to Rebecca. "Can you clear it up so that we can actually see?"

"I need to clean the filters – that red box, bring it over here?"

It's disgusting – the water is full of gunk which has kind of the same texture as canned tuna – or like if someone decided to make jelly out of tuna. They have to resort to scrubbing the filters with forks and a dish brush every five minutes – they're in the fifth such cleanup when Bill comes back, out of breath.

"What happened?" he asks.

"It's hatched," Harlan answers, making a face at the bucket of gunk. "And in doing so it shredded the cocoon."

"This is ridiculous – can't we just cycle the water through the sieve?" Shaun demands, throwing the fork into the bucket. "Get the worst of this shite out of the water."

"It's not really water, it's artificial amniotic fluid, Shaun," Rebecca says.

"Whatever it is, it's _disgusting_. I'm getting a sieve."

It takes them almost twenty minutes to clear the pod enough to actually see into it. There's still a pile of biomatter on the bottom – but curiously, no bones. It's mostly gunk – stuff that was discarded, apparently.

And then there's the thing. It's swimming wildly in confused, agitated circles at first, before the water clears and it can see them just as they can see it, and then… then it stops to stare at them.

It's a sort of snake. It has fins and its head is nothing like any creature on Earth has – the little dude has four pincers in place of jaws, with spikes at the end. Its swimming is still a little awkward, but it's getting better at it, undulating slowly in the fluid to stay in place.  And it's definitely looking at them.

"That's a Goa'uld," Harlan says faintly.

"You truly have a gift with stating the obvious," Shaun says, pressing his face closer to the glass. "Huh. It's kind of –"

In the tank the Goa'uld makes a move forward and impacts with the glass, startling Shaun badly enough to send him scurrying back in alarm. The Goa'uld is also startled, it looks like – it shakes its head and then backs away from the glass, coiling up tighter.

"It's the glass going to hold?" Bill asks sharply.

"Yeah, it can take a bullet, I think it can take one little snake," Rebecca says and crouches down to look at the thing closer. "Hello there, little fella. Careful with the glass, you don't want to hurt yourself."

"Oh my god, are for kidding me?" Shaun asks.

"What?" Rebecca asks. "You know snakes can do some serious damage to themselves if they launch at glass."

"It's an evil brain-grabbing parasite, not a snake," Shaun says.

"So? It can still hurt itself by banging at the glass," Rebecca says and shrugs.

"You're one of those people who keeps snakes as pets, aren't you?" Shaun demands suspiciously.

"Don't be ridiculous, Shaun," Rebecca says. "With the amount of traveling we do? I wouldn't put any animal through that."

Shaun narrows his eyes, and Bill clears his throat. "Can it survive in the tank?"

"For now, but I'd recommend we make an aquarium for it," Rebecca days and stands up. "According to the files, their ideal environment is a bit like saline solution, with some minerals and elements thrown in, with pure oxygen diffused into the water."

"I don't think that's what he meant, Rebecca," Shaun says and peers at the tank, where the Goa'uld is poking at the glass, jaws working, body squirming. It's making a sort of high pitched squeaking noises. Shaun makes a face at it. "We have a living Goa'uld now, and we have to contain it, somehow. What the hell are we going to do with it?"

There's a moment of silence. Then Harlan suggests, carefully, "We could dissect it –" he hesitates when everyone else turns to stare at him, the Goa'uld squeaking shrilly. "... Or at least collect a DNA sample for study. If the DNA is legible in the Animus, surely we need to know now?"

Rebecca hums. "Well, he's not wrong," she says. "But I'm voting no on dissection. I mean, whatever it is, it was born from… from... well. We shouldn't just kill it."

"Yes, it would be bit of a waste, after all this time," Shaun says, tugging at the lapels of his jacket and trying to look unaffected. "Bill? What do you think?"

Bill eyes the creature in the tank and then turns away. "Collect the sample – let's see if this was worth the trouble."

Rebecca looks behind him and then shares a look with Shaun. While Harlan moves to get the medical kit, the Goa'uld in the pod lets out another quiet little squeak.

It sounds almost sad.

Rebecca shakes her head. She's letting this get into her head. "I'm going to set up the aquarium," she decides. "Get it out of that gunk."

"Are you going to put in a little caste and some plants too?" Shaun asks derisively. "It's not a pet, Rebecca."

"It will be easier to handle in a smaller space, rather than a human-sized tank, Shaun," Rebecca says and elbows him. "And just for that you are going to help me carry and dechlorinate the water."

"Ever heard of a hose?"

"Isn't it something you wear?"

As they head to get the buckets, she could swear the Goa'uld's beady little eyes follow them as they go.


	3. Chapter 3

Few things they learn about the Goa'uld in short order.

One, it's bit of a coward. Despite all the files from Abstergo's lab, the thing doesn't actually try to launch at them or take over their bodies for its evil purposes – no, when Rebecca goes to pick it up with tongs and tear-proof glove, the thing cowers in the corner of the tank. Far be it for Shaun to feel any sympathy for the parasite, but he kinda gets where Rebecca comes from when she goes "Aww, it's okay, little buddy, I ain't gonna hurtcha – were just putting you into a nicer tank."

Two, it can understand speech. It uncoils and it looks like Rebecca can snatch it, but then Shaun says, "We're just going to stick this needle which is kind of like taking a drill bit to a human, in terms of relative size, but it probably won't hurt a _bit,_ yeah –" and the Goa'uld goes back into the corner and hisses at them.

Three, it can be _resigned_. When Rebecca finally gets it on the tongs and out of the water, it kind of just flops there like wet sock, just giving up – only letting out a sort of chirrup of discomfort when Harlan takes the blood sample from its side – its blood is sort of milky blue, too, it's weird. When Rebecca gets it into the new tank, it goes into a corner, and if Shaun was completely mad, he'd say it's sulking.

After that there's fun bit of trying to analyse the thing's DNA, and yeah – not legible in the Animus, not by a long shot. They can't even get a count on how many chromosomes the thing has, never mind figuring out the DNA. What was a triple helix kind of looks like it's gone off and into the 4th dimension, finding new and creative ways of folding itself. In conclusion, though…

"However it works, it packs way more information than human – even triple helix – DNA does," Rebecca says. "Like, I wouldn't be surprised if these things just didn't bother storing their memories in their brains, with this amount of data packed into the genome."

"Could be they don't have a brain, too, Rebecca," Shaun points out and squints at the aquarium. "This one definitely looks faulty. Could be missing something vital."

The Goa'uld chirps and squeaks at him, resentful.

"I'll see if I can tweak the scanners, but I doubt we can get anything out of this in the Animus," Rebecca says. "But maybe we can see how this even happened."

"This might answer that," Bill comments and looks up from the sample he'd already fed into the Animus. At their confused look, he waves a hand. "It's not the Goa'uld's DNA, it's from the shredded cocoon."

"You scanned the gunk?" Shaun asks, in disbelief.

"It's still biological matter, which means cells, which means DNA," Bill says and folds his arms. "In either case, though, not quite. The matter is mostly adipose tissue, along with what I think must be the remains of mycote cells and merkel cells."

"Huh," Rebecca hums. "So, fats, muscle, skin."

"Hm," Bill agrees. "At least I think. Each cell looks like it's been broken into – they're missing their nuclei. No DNA, in any of them."

"So, what, the metamorphosis just – ate up all the DNA?" Shaun asks, uneasily.

"Could be," Bill says and looks to the tank and then away, at Rebecca. "Do what you can with the Goa'uld's cells, figure out if there's anything there we can use."

No one asks what would happen if there wouldn't be.

Fourth thing they learn is that the Goa'uld can sleep – and it has nightmares. While they're frantically working on trying to figure out what to even do with the thing's really confusing cell structure, the snake-thing drifts to the bottom of the aquarium, lying listless for a while before startling into jerky twisty movement and into distressed chirps and squeaks. The first time it happens, Shaun doesn't care much – the second and third…

"Guess it inherited something from Desmond," Shaun comments grimly.

"Poor little guy," Rebecca says sympathetically. "Can't even get it drunk bad enough to not dream, huh."

"Tch," Shaun says. "Suits it right." But as easy as that is to say, it's not so easy to listen to the quiet, confused chirps from the tank – or the ensuing silence when the Goa'uld curls up in the corner of the tank and sulks some more.

* * *

 

Of course Rebecca can't leave it well enough alone. They all noticed how intelligent the worm is – it's hard to miss the thing following their conversations. But while Shaun and Harlan rightfully find the thing creepy and unnerving, Rebecca, being the madwoman she is, thinks it's just the coolest thing ever.

One day Shaun comes in to find Rebecca not just talking to the thing – but testing out bits of food with it, saying, "… okay, that's a no on lettuce then. You know, you should really have another try at the mealworms – they're like, the staple of food. Okay, okay, no worms. How about a mice? I got some frozen ones here – okay, no mice, I hear you."

"What on _Earth_ are you doing?" Shaun demands.

"What?" Rebecca asks, while she and the Goa'uld both turn to look at him. "It's been days since he hatched – he's gotta be getting hungry by now."

"And what, you're discussing what to order – is that a rat?" Shaun asks flatly, seeing what she has on a tray between herself and the tank.

"No, it's a mouse. Frozen one. Bred and bought for feeding to reptiles and such – I didn't just catch it outside," Rebecca says. "Maybe should've tried pinkies – I mean we don't even know if this little guy can digest hair."

The Goa'uld chirrups at them and Shaun makes a face at it. Then he looks at the food goods Rebecca was offering the Goa'uld and makes another face. "You are disturbing and not right in the head, Rebecca. Try the shrimp."

Rebecca glances down and then takes the shelled shrimp between the tongs and offers it into the water. The Goa'uld considers it, poking at it with its pincers, before tentatively taking it between them and trying to eat it.

And that's another nope, it looks like – after trying to eat it, the thing spits it out, making shrill whirring noises at it. Goa'uld gagging. Wonderful.

"I guess he can't eat earthy food," Rebecca says, sounding honestly concerned as she looks up. "If we can't figure out what he can eat – if he can't eat _anything_... he's gonna starve."

Shaun makes a face, resting his hip against the desk on which the aquarium sits, while Rebecca fishes the discarded shrimp out. "I guess inside a human host the body supplies it with all the nutrients it needs," he says. "Maybe there's something we can introduce into the water. Some sort of intravenous feeding solution.

Rebecca hums. "Yeah, I guess that's going to have to be it," she says. "Can you get us some?"

"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem," Shaun says, folding his arms. "But you know… We don't even know how long we're going to keep it around, Rebecca. Don't go getting attached."

Rebecca gives him a look. "If it comes down to getting rid of him because he's not use –"

"That's going to be Bill's decision," Shaun says quietly.

Rebecca hesitates and looks down. "No one should be at fault for how they're born. Not humans or animals or – or aliens. It's not his fault he happened the way he did."

Shaun presses his lips together and looks away, thinking. "Not sure Bill sees it that way – and you've seen the files, the same as I have. The things Goa'uld's do, the way they function – it's not good."

"Yeah, but ours hasn't done anything. Aside from being picky about food," Rebecca points out. "You think if it came to it, if Bill wanted to, I don't know… call quits on this, he'd let me…"

"You're not keeping it," Shaun says, frowning.

"Well, I'm not killing him either. I mean, look at him," Rebecca says and puts her hand to the glass. Inside, the Goa'uld, looking between them, sifts closer to the hand, pressing up against the glass.

"It probably likes the transfer of heat through the glass," Shaun says dubiously. "Either that, or it's trying to make you like it so that it can get an upper hand on you and take over your body."

Rebecca makes a face. "He hasn't tried so far."

"Don't humanise it."

"He can understand us, Shaun," Rebecca points out, a little irritated now. "He's listening, and he's obviously capable of communicating – if you just sat down and tried –"

"Desmond's dead, Rebecca," Shaun says. "This thing isn't him and can't replace him."

Rebecca goes very still, and in the tank the Goa'uld sinks to the bottom.

Shaun gets up and heads to his computers. "Don't get attached."

* * *

 

Shaun works on figuring out where the Goa'uld came from, how they've influenced history and how do other people know it – along with, of course, the usual; where's the tech and how to get their hands on it.

Abstergo doesn't know much yet, it seems, but couple years back they were part of a Coalition of major businesses – a lot of which enjoyed disturbingly close, almost incestuous ties with Abstergo, of course – and the Coalition was approached by cell of the NID, offering them highly advanced alien technology in trade for a ridiculous sums of money. That's how they got Keffler – Keffler was NID, but Abstergo had much better chance at understanding Goa'uld physiology, so… foreign exchange program between evil organisations happened. Abstergo got Keffler and his Goa'uld DNA research project – and NID got Juhani Otso Berg. Truly, it was a match made in heaven.

Shaun admits his own mistake there – to himself, since no one's asking. It was in Keffler's NID days when he was trying to make a Goa'uld-Human Hybrid, albeit still using Abstergo Tech since it was the best you got when wishing to do truly evil and unethical science. Keffler had just brought all his history into Abstergo with him, parking all his skeletons in Abstego's closets until it was a bit hard to see what happened where. In either case, Keffler is a terrible human being and Shaun wishes him all the worst.

NID obviously hasn't yet shared everything with Abstergo – there's still enormous blanks in Abstergo's files when it comes to the Goa'uld. They know a sort of larger picture but not the details – but the larger picture alone is kind of concerning.

"So, how about wormholes?" Shaun asks, looking up. "Because apparently, United States Air Force got themselves a wormhole creation device thing, which they're using to travel to other planets and make a whole lot of enemies for themselves."

"Far out," Rebecca says. "Why?"

"To seek out new life and new civilisations?" Harlan asks jokingly – aww, he's getting used to them now, how cute.

"No, technology. They want alien technologies and to build ships – but that takes alien technologies and also elements which we don't have on Earth," Shaun says and leans back. "You want the whole story or the short and nasty of it?"

"It's a slow day," Bill says, not looking up from the files he's reading – actual paper files, where did he even get those? "Tell us the whole thing."

"Right. Okay. So, 1928, an archaeological dig run by Doctor Paul Langford found a device in Giza, a big metal ring made of alloy no one could make heads or tails of," Shaun starts, and Bill lowers the papers, looking up. "In 1945 they started running experiments on it, figuring out it's alien technology – which it was – but nothing came out of it at the time, aside from some random mishaps, not really well explained here. Then, about decade back, they started it up again."

It's a weirdly familiar story. Similar stuff had happened to Templars – they found tech, couldn't use the tech, set the tech aside until human technology caught up and suddenly, Isu memory disks became the Animus and they were off to the races. Via some shenanigans, USAF figured out how the ring – the Stargate – worked, how to dial it, and where to dial it…

"After which they apparently proceeded to blow up an evil alien named Ra with a nuclear bomb to the face," Shaun scoffs. "America, fuck yeah."

"One of the Goa'ulds?" Harlan asks, folding his arms.

"Yeah, looks like they got something of a godly theme going on. There's a whole Egyptian pantheon there – part of which I assume Sekhmet was," Shaun says and looks towards the aquarium. Of course the snake is listening to them, coiled up on the bottom with beady eyes flashing as it stares. Creepy little bugger. "Also, the thing they found Sekhmet in, the canopic stasis jar, it's like a Goa'uld trope. There's about handful of Goa'uld that's been discovered in similar stasis jars, apparently – no actual details here, but there's definitely a precedence. Except by the time Sekhmet ended in Keffler Junior's hands, it was way dead."

"And what of Goa'uld technology?" Bill asks.

"Kind of looks like NID didn't tell Abstergo much about it – just that there is some, and it's good," Shaun answers. "I bet by now Otso Berg got more information, but it was definitely not given to Keffler, so… it's not here."

"Hmm."

There's a moment of silence while Rebecca eyes the Goa'uld and Harlan stares up at the ceiling, thinking. Shaun looks at Bill. "Can't help but see you not being surprised by any of this, Bill," Shaun comments.

"We had suspicion, but not the full picture yet," Bill admits. "As you know we've been trying to get an operative into NID. We've got another working her way to SGC – the Stargate Command, which runs the Stargate Program. It's still early days, though, she doesn't yet have the security clearance to know all the facts."

"And we didn't need to know this, I'm guessing," Shaun says.

Bill looks at them. "You didn't. Your focus was to be the Animus project."

Right. Shaun looks at the computer, frowning. "So, what are we going to do about it now?"

"That depends on whether we can get anything out of the Goa'uld," Bill says. "And what Gavin thinks. I'm not the Mentor anymore, Shaun – I no longer make these calls."

"Right," Shaun says, lowering his chin. That… is going to take some getting used to. "Guess I'll see if I can find out more, then," he murmurs and casts a look at Rebecca. She's eying the aquarium again, her expression grim and troubled.

Rebecca looks up and Shaun arches his brows at her. She shakes her head. "I've been going through the DNA as much as I can," she says. "Desmond's genome is still there, I know that much, but it's completely been intertwined with the Goa'uld DNA, and wound up in a way the Animus can't parse. It would take a much… much better scanners than we have to read it."

"Wait," Harlan says, lowering his eyes. "This thing has not only the Goa'uld's DNA, but Desmond Miles' too? Does that mean it has both sets of genetic memory?"

"Hard to say, but… it's likely," Rebecca admits and looks to Bill. "There's really no way to know aside from asking him."

"Excuse me?" Bill says, his voice going cool.

"The Goa'uld is obviously intelligent – he can understand speech, he recognizes us, he already has habits," Rebecca points out. "I bet if we tried it could communicate with us."

"How, by chirping?" Shaun asks, derisive. "I don't speak squeak, do you?"

Rebecca gives him a wry look and then reaches out to take something. A tablet – in a clear ziploc bag. "It's has a resistive touch screen, which means the Goa'uld could use his pincers to write on it," she says and looks between them. "If he's as smart as I think he is, and if he has access to his genetic memories… he should be able to write on it."

Oh. Shaun blinks at her and then looks at Bill, who is arching his brows now. He still looks put off by the idea, obviously – still can't look at the tank for too long without getting a really worrisome expression on his face – but he's not stupid.

"The idea has merit," Bill says finally. "It doesn't have connectivity, does it?"

"Nope, I stripped it down to really basic coding. All you can do with it is write," Rebecca promises.

"Very well. Go ahead – try it."

Rebecca quickly gets up, turning the tablet on and then moving to the tank. The Goa'uld inside it bounces to movement, swimming anxiously back and forward – and then back, as Rebecca drops the bagged up tablet into the water. "Just don't break the bag, little guy," she says. "The tablet isn't waterproof."

They all move to the tank to see as the Goa'uld swims in circles around the shining tablet. It does make a few attempts to poke at the screen with it's pincers, but if it's trying to write something on the keypad there, the result isn't stellar. What comes out is "djawn" and "ebjca", after which the snake stops, swimming in zigzag over the tablet.

"Is that Egyptian?" Harlan asks, fascinated.

"No," Shaun says with a snort. "It's gibberish."

"Maybe it will take bit of practice?" Rebecca says worriedly. "Let's just… give him a moment. I mean, he's never written anything before, and keyboards are hard."

Bill sighs, shaking his head and heads back to his papers, looking disgusted. Shaun glances after him, then gives Rebecca a wry smile. "Good try," he says quietly, patting her shoulder and heads back to work as well. Rebecca lets out a sigh behind him, and sits down to try and teach the Goa'uld how to write.

* * *

 

Shaun wakes up alone, with a cold space where Rebecca had been before, and blearily lifts up a wrist to check his watch. It's five am, and judging by the feel of it, Rebecca hasn't been there for a while. For a moment he lies there, considering putting his head down, closing his eyes and pretending he hadn't woken up at all, but…

Rebecca's been a bit unhappy since the Goa'uld hatched, and unhappy Rebecca usually goes for the weed whenever she has the time. If she's up on the roof getting high or something, he should probably go and make sure she doesn't fall off it and break her neck. Not that she's prone to pulling off stunts while high, really, she's usually really sensible for a high person, but…

But she's been unhappy. And Shaun has been trying not to notice it for probably way too long now.

"Damn it," Shaun mutters and gets up, fishing his glasses from the floor and then getting up to pull something on.

He goes to check their main operations room out of rote, just to make sure Harlan hasn't fallen asleep or something – only to find that Harlan isn't even there, and neither is Bill. Closing his eyes, Shaun rubs a hand over his face and then turns his eyes to the aquarium. "Relieved Harlan, did you? Do you know, Rebecca, how rare and precious it is to get a full night's sleep? Are you like immune to common sense?"

Rebecca doesn't answer, drawing a breath, and it's – wet, her inhale. And Shaun might not be the most emotionally sophisticated person ever, but he's intimately familiar with that sort of breath. The kind of breath you draw when you're trying to hide that you've been crying.

Fuck.

Rebecca's crying.

Shaun freezes, his eyes widening a little, as he stares at her back. She's sitting, cross-legged, on the table with the aquarium – not even at it like a normal person, but on it, and how can the thing even take the weight? Her back is to him, so he could – he could pretend he hadn't noticed, give her a moment, give her privacy, but – but Rebecca is crying.

Rebecca _never_ cries.

He has _no idea_ what to do with a crying Rebecca Crane.

Fuck, where is Desmond when you need him?

"Um," Shaun says, eloquent, and winces as Rebecca moves, hand lifting, wiping at her face. "Should – should I – um –"

"Shaun," she says, sniffling out a sort of crying-laugh. "Look."

Shaun can't see through her, he doesn't have x-ray vision, so the only course of action is to step forward, get beside her, see whatever she's looking at – but then he'll see her face, her crying face, and he's not sure he is emotionally equipped to handle that. But – he can't leave now either. Fuck.

Stumbling a little over his own feet, Shaun sets forward, every step a struggle. Then he sees what she's actually _doing_ and steps forward faster.

Rebecca's hand is in the tank – and the Goa'uld is wrapped around it.

"What are you _doing_?" Shaun demands, running the last steps. "Rebecca, what the hell?"

"Look, look at him," Rebecca says, turning her hand in the salty water so that the palm is up. The Goa'uld shifts over her skin like – well, a snake, slowly curling over her wrist and into her palm, coiling up there for her to hold. It's just – just resting there, nuzzling it's sharp jawed head against her thumb, making little chirping noises.

"Rebecca," Shaun starts to say something along the lines of _it's a evil parasite, and dangerous and probably poisonous and in every way dangerous to your health, are you out of your mind_? But the Goa'uld is just… just curled up in her hand, all cosy and surprisingly small, for how long it is.

Rebecca looks up at him, her eyes still wet.

Shaun has no idea what to say. "What – what brought this on?" he asks, wary, alarmed, confused, all the baffled and anxious emotions there are.

"The tablet," she says.

Shaun looks down to it. The Goa'uld has been busy, writing on it. It apparently hasn't figured out the art of backspace either – the first lines are still gibberish, "djawn" and "ebjca" are still there. But then it gets… weirder.

> djawn ebjca snauwn rebbna sawn shan shayn shaun shaun shaun revbnca rebna rebec rebvecna rebecc rebecca rebecca rebecca shaun rebecca lucn luc lucy lucy clay bill shaun rebecca connor ezio altair desmond desmond deSmond DEsmond Desmond Shaun Rebecca Desmond Im Desmond Rebecca Im me Im here Im me please

"Um," Shaun says, his eyes wide. No way. "C-couldn't figure out apostrophes huh?"

Rebecca lets out another sobbing laugh, reaching her other hand into the water and cupping the curled up Goa'uld between them, while Shaun sits beside her to watch. The Goa'uld shifts a little, nudging at her fingers until she closes them around it, holding the snake tenderly.

"It could be a trick," Shaun says. "These things, they are deceitful."

"It's Desmond," Rebecca says. "Look at him – no, touch him. Come on."

"No way, I am not sticking my hand in there – "

" _Shaun_."

Wincing and grimacing, Shaun sticks his hand in there. The solution they keep the Goa'uld in is surprisingly warm, almost scalding even - though of course, human body temperature, it would feel hot on skin. The Goa'uld looks up as he holds out his hand, going to poke at one of the coils of it – and then it moves. Shaun's first instinct is to yank his hand out of the water as the sinuous little body moves against his fingers, his palm, but somehow he manages to stamp it down.

Slowly the Goa'ud rubs it's back against his palm like an affectionate cat before winding around his wrist once, twice, and then coming back down again, nudging under his wrist and then nuzzling it's sharp head against his palm.

"What are you doing, pretending to be a hidden blade?" Shaun asks, incredulous, and the Goa'uld chirrups at him.

Rebecca laughs and wipes at her eyes. "I think that's exactly what he's doing," she says, reaching to rub her fingers along the back of the Goa'uld. "Do you feel it?"

Shaun makes a face at her. What, is he supposed to feel some mystical connection to Desmond here, or what? No, he does not, all he feels is this snake thing wrapped around his arm, being all… sinewy and probably slimy. But…

It's so small, against his hand. He can feel its – he's not sure, bones? Against his palm the thing's head feels fragile – he could just squeeze his hand and kill the thing. It probably wouldn't even take that much pressure. It's – he's squeezing against Shaun's wrist but Shaun's felt handshakes worse than this. The whole creature is just so… frail.

Just by lifting it out of the water, Shaun could kill it.

And it's nuzzling into his palm, its whole little body quivering.

"Um," Shaun says, not sure how to put into words the feeling but… "Y-yeah."

"We need to tell Bill," Rebecca says.

"Yeah," Shaun agrees.

Neither of them move, their hands still in the water, still petting the little brain serpent, until the sun finally rises outside.

* * *

 

For a long while Bill doesn't say anything at all, his face completely expressionless. When he finally does speak, a good minute later, his voice is very low. "That thing is _not_ my son." And then, ignoring the distressed squeaking coming from the aquarium, he walks away.

Shaun closes his eyes and bows his head while Rebecca shoves her hands into her pockets and slumps down beside him. Harlan looks between them awkwardly, while behind them in the tank, the Goa'uld's chirps and squeaks go quieter and quieter and then stop – when Shaun looks, the little snake is lying curled on the bottom of the tank, jaws working and no sound coming out.

"Um," Harlan says. "Are you… sure…?"

"He definitely has Desmond's genetic memories. None of us have mentioned Altaïr or Ezio or Connor in his presence," Rebecca says. "And he… I think it's Desmond."

Hard to say that he _behaves_ like Desmond, when, really… he doesn't. Hard to correlate the touchy-feely nature of a man to the touchy-feely nature of a snake thing, it's not the same. And it could be that they're imagining it, grasping for straws, but…

The Goa'uld looks sad – and Shaun can't be the only one who has noticed the thing being _emotionally distressed_ on several occasions. Specifically when the talk of killing and dissecting it – or Desmond's _death_ – came up.

"Right," Harlan says, still a bit dubious but willing to go with it. Honestly  it's not the weirdest thing to have happened, though it's up there. "So, now what will we do?"

Shaun shares a look with Rebecca, who shrugs her shoulders, uncomfortable. "I guess," Shaun says. "I guess we wait for Bill to come back and uh… see where we go from there."

Only Bill doesn't come back, not that day, and not the day after… or any day since.

* * *

 

The Goa'uld learns to write quicker, and now that he's gotten his initial urgent message across, he figures out how to write in sentences. "Memories scrambled," is the first sentence he writes out, poking at the tablet with his pincers. Then, "Many memories. Too many. Goa'uld suck." From where he starts to explain, "Sekhmet was a bitch," and "Ra was a rat bastard, glad he's dead," and "I really miss eating food."

It's harder and harder to deny that the thing is… really _a lot_ like Desmond. One morning they come to find that the Goa'uld had written them what amounted to a letter, a little like the voice recordings Desmond used to do before the superflare.

> I don't remember anything from when I was in the cocoon, and I'm damn glad about it, it was probably nasty – but I kind of also do? Because… Goa'uld know genetics and biology, it's just in there – the same way people have the awareness of their arms and legs and how they are moving in space in relation to the rest of their bodies, Goa'uld know their genetics. Or _I_ do? I'm not sure about that yet, but I just – I _know_.
> 
> It's the way the First Civilisation made me, I think – something about the eugenics and genetic engineering that went into me made my human genes receptive to useful mutations. That's how I developed Eagle Sense when I didn't have it before – the genetics were there, in Altaïr's memories, and so it was integrated as a feature in me, I suppose. And it was the same with the Goa'uld DNA.
> 
> I was dead – or dying, it's hard to say. I'm not sure I can fully die as long as my DNA survives, because my information, my data – my intelligence, all of it, it survives in my DNA. So as long as it lives _I live,_ and my DNA is hardwired to survive. But because I was dead-or-dying, my DNA needed… no, needed is the wrong word, it didn't know what there was to need. But when the Goa'uld DNA was introduced into my body, my DNA just sort of… took it and ran with it?
> 
> Goa'uld genetics are _scary_ advanced, and I guess my DNA just liked them? They were advantageous for my survival, anyway, and I'm hardwired for optimal survival and all that – thank you, Minerva. So my human DNA took the Goa'uld DNA and… basically went, "I like this, this is useful, and now it's mine"?
> 
> All things function in service of self-interest, you know? Once heard a song about it, I think it went like… _self-interest is divine and cancer lives by a golden rule that you must do unto the others as the others unto you_. Something like that, but, uh. My DNA works like that, in service of self-interest and survival.
> 
> Not sure this shape is really… optimal for survival, but, yeah. It's the best I can come up with to explain this.

So that's… something. When asked whether he has access to the Goa'uld memories, Desmond just nods – and at this point there's no denying that it is _Desmond_. Well, there's still a chance it could be a really elaborate deceit, but…

Shaun is starting to entertain some hope. For what, he has no idea – what can Desmond even do like this, what can they do with him, for him? What use is this to anyone? But still. Somehow, through the magic of really fucked up genetics, Desmond Miles survived to become a snake.

"Your life, mate, is bloody weird," Shaun tells the little brain serpent.

Desmond flicks his tail at him, as if to say, _yeah, tell me about it_.

Shaun hums and leans his elbows to the desk, eying the tank. "I'm sorry about Bill. He's not been the same since the solar flare – he's resigned as the Mentor, and I think… I think he just resigned as an assassin too. We have a new mentor now, Gavin Banks – don't think you've ever met him, but he's a good man."

Desmond settles quietly to the bottom of the tank, listening, as Shaun proceeds to explain some of the situation in the Brotherhood. While he is talking, Harlan and Rebecca come in, Rebecca putting a cup of tea at his elbow and Harlan heading to check the system.

"We should do something," Rebecca says quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He can't stay in that tank forever."

"Yeah," Shaun says and looks at her and then at Harlan. "I think we should report everything to Gavin – and see if we can… come up with a better solution."

"Like a host?" Harlan guesses, looking a little ill at the thought.

Shaun looks at Rebecca, who frowns a little. Then they both look at the tank, where Desmond is watching them with dark, beady eyes – nothing like the amber eyes he had before, but still, somehow… the look is familiar. "Yeah. Like a host."


	4. Chapter 4

The weird thing is that Desmond can still sort of feel his arms and legs. He doesn't have them anymore, but it also feels like he almost does, like if he stopped paying mind to it, he'd suddenly be using them or something. He thinks it has something to do with neurons – his whole original nervous system, or what of it had survived, had been integrated into the new body, so… in some way, part of him still has his limbs. Or the neurons of the said limbs.

It's weird, in any case.

It's only completely inconsequential to the rest of the things he now is and has, but it's easier to concentrate on _that_ than on his memories as _Sekhmet_ and all the terrible stuff she pulled in life, or witnessed. It's all in the back of his mind the same way his own original memories are, a looming flood of knowledge, which will crash in the moment he thinks back with memories of throne rooms and temples and slaves bowing and sacrificing themselves and dying and the _delight_ her kind felt at their useless pitiful suffering, as if it would please the Gods.

And Sekhmet wasn't even the worst of her species – nah, that was Ra. Ra was the absolute worst. And Desmond really would rather not be thinking about it.

Not that there is much to do but to think about it. His tank, his aquarium, isn't exactly entertaining, and voices don't carry that well – so when Shaun, Rebecca and Harlan are on the other end of the room, Desmond can't hear what they're talking about that well, not when they're talking so quietly. And Goa'uld eyesight sucks, so even if he could read lips – which he can't – he can't actually see them well enough to try it.

Goa'uld bodies are, overall, kind of useless on their own. They can't handle nitrogen or oxygen in high qualities, and just a few breaths of carbon dioxide and they choke up – and a Goa'uld doesn't even have lungs, they breathe through their skin. UV will burn a Goa'uld faster than setting them on fire will, probably, and let's not get into other forms of radiation. Outside the water – or a host – which is _just right_ , they're not exactly an evolutionary success as species survivability goes.

But then there were hosts, there were humans – there was Ancient technology and just enough intelligence to push buttons, and after that, there were  few generations of creatures with genetic memories, and voila, you got a whole species of world-enslaving megalomaniacs.

Desmond swims in circles, trying not to get so stuck in his head – how does this much stuff even _fit_ in him, Goa'uld's whole body is smaller than a half of human brain, it's ridiculous. It's all too easy to get lost in it, though, when there's so little else there. And Sekhmet was not a happy camper when she died, and a lot of that still lingers close to the surface.

Really, thank _god_ Ra's dead, that helps a lot in keeping the murderous urges at bay. Though, Goa'uld thanking god, isn't that ironic.

Desmond looks up as a shape approaches the tank, and then Rebecca is there, sitting down beside the table. "Bad news, Desmond," she says. "Gavin didn't authorise us to find a host for you. Said it goes against all we Assassins believe in, and even if you're not as bad as Goa'uld… it's still kind of like slavery."

Desmond swims from side to side. Honestly, he wouldn't have really liked it anyway – going forcibly into someone's head, taking over their bodies against their will… The whole thing turns his probably non-existent stomach. He has memories of it, memories of Sekhmet suppressing the voice of her host, stamping down her silent screams and – no. No thanks.

"Even if it's an enemy, like a Templar, it wouldn't be right," Rebecca says. "And when we suggested finding a sick person, a brain dead person, someone in coma – well, that was a _maybe,_ but it's still a risk and still a bit iffy, morality wise."

"Yeah, no kidding," Shaun says, coming to stand behind Rebecca. "We could probably try for an animal host – apparently there's precedents for that too, Goa'uld inhabiting other creatures, but –"

No. Desmond swims rapidly from side to side, a little queasy at the thought. No, no, _no thanks_. Not that he has anything against animals, but, no.

"Yeah, figured as much," Shaun says, folding his arms. "Puts us in a bit of a bind as to what to do with you. You're not much use to anyone in a tank."

"Shaun," Rebecca says, scowling at him.

"Well, he isn't. All he can do is write us bad prose, that's no good to anyone," Shaun says, huffing, and Desmond flicks his tail in lieu of laughing. "And besides, an aquarium isn't exactly safe or secure – or easy to move, should we need to pack up in a hurry. What are we going to do if we get compromised – shove you in a bucket?"

Rebecca elbows at Shaun, and Desmond looks between fondly, wistfully. From his perspective he hasn't been gone for the months they say he's been dead, but – he's missed them. And he kind of wishes he had a body and an elbow to elbow Shaun with too. He misses that.

He misses being able to touch them.

"We'll figure something out, Desmond," Rebecca promises. "There's gotta be a solution – and at least Gavin agrees with us on one thing. The stuff you know – it's too valuable to lose. So we're not giving up, not by a long shot."

Desmond nods, letting himself sink to the bottom and coiling his tail a little to stay still. There's a lot he knows now, much more than they realise – and way more than he can share in writing. He can't wait to tell them everything.

* * *

 

He dreams of Sekhmet now, more than of the horrors his own ancestors experienced. There are those dreams too – and the awakening dreams of _other_ ancestors too, as the blending of Sekhmet's DNA has sort of blown the doors to his genetic library wide open and all the memories are sort of just spilling out. But mostly it's Sekhmet.

Sekhmet, the daughter of Mat and Ra, and at the time of her imprisoning, the youngest of Ra's daughters. She'd served as many of Ra's underlords on Earth, Tau'ri, reigning over a region of Egypt and making people worship her and the other Goa'ulds as gods. She wasn't the worst of them – but she definitely wasn't the best of them either.

Sekhmet was a bit of a spoiled brat, really. She was the _only_ surviving daughter of Ra, and she lorded it over all the other Goa'ulds like it was a whip to lash them with. One day, she thought, she'd rule by Ra's side when Mat grew too old – either that, or she'd slay them both and build an empire on their ashes. And woe be to anyone who dared to suggest it would not be so, for Sekhmet's wrath was quick and unreasonable and difficult to pacify.

Early in her reign of her small plot of Earth, she liked to make her slaves fight each other, spill the blood of their friends and loved ones lest she be the one to spill their blood for her joy. She made them engage each other in great battles, for no other reason than so that she could watch them die. Like all Goa'uld, she got off on the power of it, on the ability to make men weep as they did terrible things in her name, on the ability to make them mad and angry and wrathful. She became known as a warrior goddess, her symbol a lion, her wrath merciless. Ra favoured her for it.

But things… changed. It wasn't a big change, indeed it wasn't a change she even noticed – but Desmond, in hindsight, can see it. She grew bored at first, of losing her favoured fighters at each other's hands, of her people diminishing and thus being unable to engage in warfare for her entertainment. Fights grew sparser at first due to the lack of warriors to fight them – and then she started calling halt, when it looked like too many would die, and thus too long a time would pass again before the next bit of blood sport.

Eventually, fights to the death turned into trials of skill, where first blood spilled ended the fight before the fighter died. Great engagements that ended in fields of bodies ended in symbolic victories, which tentatively led into celebrations, and eventually, into feasts and festivals – and with festivals came wine, and usually a lot of it.

Sekhmet _really_ liked her wine.

So, from angry, cruel and wrathful god, Sekhmet the spoiled turned into… still spoiled, but now, more of a hedonistic one. Still a warrior and still occasionally cruel, her people learned she found drunken brawls even more entertaining than ones that ended in armies dying. She could also be plied with wine, on a good day, and so her people offered it to her more and more.

So, her reign over her land got sloppy, her people grew, dare Desmond say, _happy,_ and Ra was not pleased.

"Another daughter a wastrel," he said. "Another daughter _spoilt_."

Sekhmet was humiliated publicly for her slovenly ways, told to shape up or else – threatened with a number of punishments and humiliations. And where Ra had thought he'd put his daughter in her place, he really hadn't. Sekhmet was pissed. And so she started plotting against him – and judging by what Desmond can recall of her siblings, whom she never cared much for, Sekhmet was nowhere near the first one to do so.

Backstabbing seems to be something of a family tradition in the Pantheon of Ra. And like all young progeny, Sekhmet thought she was so great, so smart about it, so sneaky; that she would totally win over Ra and kill him and claim all his land and systems too, and woe be anyone who told her otherwise.

Eventually, she tried to have a go at him. And Ra basically smacked her down, tore her out of her host, and put her in a cosmic house arrest – locked in stasis, in a canopic jar.

"Be grateful that you are my daughter," was the last thing Ra said to her, "For were you not, I would slay you where you lie, the pitiful worm you are. But as a Queen you might yet be of use to me – as a broodmare, if nothing else."

Sekhmet went into stasis swearing that she would tear Ra out of his host with her teeth – she'd find a lion to serve as her host, and she would _rip_ Ra to shreds, and revel in the taste of his blood and the crunch of his pitiful bones.

So, yeah. Desmond is kind of glad Ra is already dead. It smooths things over nicely.

* * *

 

Desmond wakes up groggy from a memory of a temple, and altar, and baby on the altar – to find Rebecca touching him. Calling out in confusion, he flails a little to get her attention, to get her to explain what the heck she's doing, but she pulls him out of the water without pause.

Desmond screeches, as immediately air starts burning at his skin, and Rebecca says, "There's no time – Abstergo is here, they're surrounding the asylum. Desmond, you gotta – "

"Rebecca, don't you _fucking_ dare!" Shaun shouts from across the room, where he's unplugging a laptop.

"There's no other way!" Rebecca snaps. "There's no way to know we can carry him safely and we gotta run, Shaun, we can't do that with – with a bucket!"

Desmond flails in her grip, wrapping his tail around Rebecca's wrist for balance so that he can turn his head towards her. She's pale, Shaun is barely dressed – Harlan is shoving things into a backpack, saying, "There's a sewer tunnel we can use, but we have to move, now, before they – "

And somewhere, distant, echoing, there's a sound of an explosion.

"… get in," Harlan says dully and then shoves the last hard drive into the backpack. "We gotta move, people."

Rebecca and Shaun stare at each other, conflicted, dismayed and Shaun says, "Rebecca," sort of helplessly, but doesn't move to stop her.

Swallowing uneasily, but with a determined expression, Rebecca turns to Desmond. "There's no other way – we can't carry you safely, and we can't leave you for Abstergo to find. You gotta take over my body."

Desmond screeches at her, incredulous. _No way, Becs, no fucking way._

"You have to," Rebecca says urgently. "There isn't other way – they're almost here, and I am not leaving you here. Who knows what they'd do to you, to get the knowledge you have – you have to, Desmond."

She pulls him close to her neck and memories flash through Desmond's mind – of Sekhmet, driving her way through flesh and sinew and to bone, leaving behind scars and rearranging muscle to make herself a spot by the spine and – no, no way, _no fucking way_ –

Desmond tries to pull away, making as much noise as he can, and Rebecca grips him tighter, saying desperately, "Desmond, please, you died once already, don't do this again –" and then Shaun is there, his hand at Desmond's back, turning his head around.

"There's no time," Shaun says grimly. "Her or me, Desmond. We gotta move either way."

Desmond squirms, half in dismay and half in pain as air begins doing actual damage on the outer layers of his skin. They mean well, but they don't know, they don't realise – it takes time, to integrate into human body, if he took one of them, either one of them, they'd pass out, they wouldn't be able to run – it would just make things worse –

"Desmond," Rebecca says, her voice tinged with desperation now. Outside, in the hallway, they can hear running steps. "Move your ass and _do it_."

Desmond wrings his body and then falls lax – they're not letting him go, not letting him out of this. Shit. Well. Rebecca's the smaller one, the lighter one – if he can't figure it out in time, Shaun would be able to carry her better than the opposite.

He moves towards her, and they let him go, pulling him closer, unsure which one he's going for. Desmond considers the neck and then decides, no way is he scarring Rebecca, she's got such a beautiful neck, no fucking way is he going to –

"Desmo-" Rebecca urges, and in that moment, as she makes that rounded shape of the _o_ in his name, Desmond launches for her mouth, slipping past her teeth, over her tongue, into the warm depths of her throat – and then through the back of it.

Everything goes, sort of… soft and hot and red.

But he knows these waters, the shapes of human tissue, the anatomy of the neck and throat region. All Goa'uld who have been spawned of Queens with human host know it. He knows how to avoid making damage, how to slide past important veins and nerves without making damage, how to loosen sinews and muscles enough for them to stretch and give him space and there, the vertebrae of her cervical spine…

He becomes slowly aware of Rebecca's body, peripherally, just as she collapses into Shaun's arms. Shaun doesn't even hesitate – he just rolls her up and onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry, and with Harlan opening the doors ahead of them, he runs out of the room and then into the corridors. From Rebecca's memories, Desmond knows vaguely the layout of the asylum – they're heading for the lower levels of the basement, for the sewers.

"S-sorry," Desmond says, while in the back of his mind Rebecca flails in marvel at all the things spilling from him to her. "This is going to take a while."

"Desmond, you complete ass," Shaun says, gripping Rebecca's thigh and wrist tighter, and then Desmond and Rebecca both pass out.

* * *

 

The stuff Rebecca knows about the Brotherhood, the stuff no one ever told Desmond, is kind of mindblowing. She wasn't an active Assassin, the way Lucy had supposedly been – she had bad legs, too many breaks and chronic pain, so she couldn't do the physical work – but she knows a lot. Though her focus had always been the Animus and the technical aspects of the Brotherhood – maintaining their higher tech gear, mostly – Shaun is a tactician in the Brotherhood and had been for years, so… she's learned a lot, from his work.

The Brotherhood is _way_ bigger than anyone ever told Desmond. Honestly, he'd somehow gotten the impression that there were like fifty people, max, in the whole thing these days – and that most of them had been killed while he was imprisoned by Abstergo. But no – there are hundreds of active operatives, and some twenty people who could be called Master Assassins. The bulk of the Brotherhood's forces is in support personnel, though – they outnumber the actual Assassins 3 to 1. That's where the common team structure comes from. One tactician, one technician and one misc support person befitting their tasks, to support one active Assassin.

That's why Bill had joined them after Lucy had died – to make it a full team. And after Lucy had died, it had gone from Lucy being the active Assassin with 3 supports – and apparently Desmond in the Animus counted as support personnel? – to Desmond being the active Assassin and Bill being his misc support, with Shaun and Rebecca being his tactician and technician, respectively.

Desmond never knew any of this shit, no one ever told him. Sure, when he'd been a kid there'd been talk of teamwork and all that, but it hadn't ever gotten to the nitty gritty of the actual team structure and why it was like this. And after, apparently, no one cared if he knew it or not.

 _Actually, I thought you knew,_ Rebecca admits. _I would've told you everything, but… there was never time._

 _Eh, there was time – but the time was better spent on other things,_ Desmond comments, remembering, and then tilts his metaphorical head. _Rebecca_?

 _Yeah, I'm here,_ she agrees. _This is wild, Desmond. All this crap in your head, how do you cope?_

Huh, she can access it? _I honestly don't know. Being Goa'uld helps, though – no Bleeding Effect, at least not yet,_ Desmond says. _Are – are you okay?_

_It's a bit weird, but… it could be worse. Also, are you doing something to my legs? They feel… twitchy._

Desmond thinks about it. _Oh yeah, sorry – I didn't even think. Um, I think I'm fixing them – do you want me not to?_

Rebecca is quiet for a moment, and he can feel the incredulous hope coming from her. _You're fixing them. You're fixing them? You can fix them?_

Well, it's only nerve damage and bad breaks in her bones, it's not that hard. He could probably even fix the right thigh bone, where she'd lost a little mass when the break had happened. The bone is shorter than its left side counterpart, which normally isn't something you can fix, but… _Yeah, I can fix them – I could also unseal your epiphyseal plate, just a smidge, to add the missing millimetres into the overall bone length, fix your gait._

Rebecca sort of gawks at him mentally.

 _Sorry – it's a thing Goa'uld can do, manipulating and modifying the bodies of their host. Human biology is kinda – it's easy to manipulate,_ Desmond says, a little embarrassed. _Of course I won't do it if you don't want, but I just thought I'd offer. I could fix the migraines too, if you'd want. I mean, it doesn't feel that bad, but – yeah._

 _Holy shit, dude_.

 _Also your allergies too, if you'd like,_ Desmond adds. _You've always wanted a cat, right?_

Rebecca sort of flails at him, which turns out to carry into the real world – and that's how they find out that they're sort of conscious again. Quickly Desmond opens his eyes and looks around, as they become aware of their surroundings.

They're in a shed. In an actual garden shed with garden implements, rakes and shovels and everything. Shaun is sitting beside them, laptop balanced on his knees, while Harlan sleeps curled up on top of some tarps. It's been… maybe two hours? It's hard to say what happened, but judging by the setting, Harlan and Shaun got them away and Abstergo didn't get them, and they probably hid in the first safe place they could find.

And Desmond has boobs. That's – not actually all that new, Sekhmet only had female hosts, but – these are Rebecca's boobs.

 _Oi, focus,_ Rebecca says.

 _Sorry – I just think they're neat,_ Desmond answers, a little embarrassed.

 _Oh, I know you do, you dork,_ Rebecca snorts. _Not really appropriate time though. Talk to Shaun._

"Shaun," Desmond says, and Shaun almost throws the laptop as he startles, grabbing it before it can fall and then holding it to his chest.

"Rebecca," Shaun says, wide eyed. "Um… Desmond?"

"Yeah," Desmond says and sits up. The legs are still a work in the progress but they work, and – yeah, he has full control here, cool. "What happened?" he asks, while wiggling Rebecca's toes just to test them.

Shaun stares at him for a moment, gripping the laptop before slowly releasing his grasp and lowering it. "We – we got away. Stopped to let you – recover as soon as we found a safe place to do it. Is – is Rebecca – is she –?" he doesn't seem to dare to finish the question.

"Still here," Desmond says and then tilts his head. "Actually – um, give me a moment."

 _Why does your voice do that?_ Rebecca asks, hyperaware of their vocal chords.

 _Because Goa'uld have superiority complex and think it sounds cool,_ Desmond answers, concentrating. He's all wound up in her nervous system, all the motor functions – and all other functions too, really – are under his control. But that doesn't mean that the neural pathways are severed – no, they're all still there, and her beautiful brain is intact. So… _There's gotta be a way to give you back bodily control._

_Hm. Can you show me how it works – you taking over motor control? You can keep the internal workings, I don't want to know what my digestive track is doing._

_It's working beautifully, for your information,_ Desmond answers while quickly showing her the complex neural and chemical work that went into Goa'uld attaching themselves into human nervous system. _Could use some sustenance, and oh my god, I just realised I can eat hamburgers again, yes!_

 _You dork,_ Rebecca thinks fondly and considers the information. _You can produce enzymes?_

 _Yeah, it's like a thing_ , Desmond says, modestly. _Ohh, I see what you're thinking._

Between them, they figure out the right amount of him detaching from the nervous system and also adding in an enzyme that makes attaching and detaching easier – making it so he can do it without making any damage and actually boosting up her nerves a little while he's at it.

Rebecca lifts her head and blinks at Shaun who is watching them nervously. "Hi Shaun," she says. "Did you really carry me on your shoulders? With your back?"

"My back is _fine_ , thanks ever so much – Rebecca?" Shaun asks, staring at her, looking between her eyes. "Rebecca, is that you?"

"Yeah," Rebecca says. "We figured out a way for Desmond to safely detach from my spine – he's still there, but I got motor control."

"Okay. Huh," Shaun says, a little confusedly, and Desmond gets a urge to kiss his dumb face. "Um. How – how does it feel?"

Rebecca shifts a little where she sits to get up on her knees and then reaches to kiss him, and – oh, that's nice, feeling her feelings, feeling her _body_ as she does it. All of it is _nice_. Even the startled noise Shaun lets out against her lips is nice – and so is his dumb lax face when Rebecca pulls back, blinking.

Fuck, it's so nice, having bodily experiences again – human bodily experiences. Totally underrated, in hindsight.

" _Um_ ," Shaun says, a little more insistently.

"Sorry," Rebecca says, a little surprised herself. "Desmond wanted to kiss you."

 _Sorry,_ Desmond says, a little embarrassed, but mostly pleased. Especially since it feels like it's been a while, for Rebecca, and she's missed it too, and she's kind of basking in how easy it was in the end, and – yeah.

"So now you do everything Desmond wants you to do?" Shaun asks, going completely, endearingly red. "If Desmond wanted you to jump off a roof, would you do it?"

"Probably," Rebecca says, grinning. "There's bound to be a bale of hay underneath it."

Shaun lets out an incredulous sound, and then kisses her, deep and frustrated and glorious. Rebecca hums into it, surprised and happy, and Desmond basks in all of it, knowing it's too fast, Shaun is still confused and worried and Rebecca is still getting used to having him there, but goddamn…

It's just so _good_. He didn't think he would get to feel good sensations again.

"Um," comes from the other end of the shed, and Rebecca and Shaun quickly detach themselves, pushing away from each other. Harlan is staring at them, wide-eyed. "I guess… Rebecca is fine, then?"

Shaun sputters in embarrassment, and Rebecca lets out a little laugh. "Yeah – yeah, I'm good, thanks Harlan. Sorry about that," she says, running her hands through her hair. "What happened?"

Harlan eyes them suspiciously. "What happened with Desmond?" he asks.

"Still here," Rebecca says, motioning to her neck. "He's good."

_Better than._

"And apparently _horny_ ," Shaun mutters, embarrassed, as he wipes at his lips and tries to put himself into order, tugging at his clothes. "Obviously we ran from the hideout, taking with us everything we could and destroying everything we couldn't. How they found us, I don't know – maybe they managed to catch some of our communications. Either way – we got away, somehow, on foot."

"Then they gotta be still looking for us," Rebecca says, trying for serious despite the happy endorphins Desmond is still causing.

"Yeah, there's a good chance they are," Shaun agrees, casting a look at her. "They knew about Desmond – we ran into a couple, and they demanded we _hand over the symbiote_."

"Damn, really? How'd you get away?" Rebecca asks, alarmed. "You were carrying me, right?"

"Well, Harlan isn't completely useless," Shaun admits, glancing at the guy.

"Thanks, that warms my heart, it really does," Harlan says with a scoff and sits up. "So, what – what's going on with Desmond, then? Is he just in there, or – or what?"

 _Okay, going the other way now?_ Rebecca suggests.

 _Ready when you are_.

They switch back around, Desmond inserting himself in control and then lifting Rebecca's head and rubbing at her neck. "Okay, that's little weird," he murmurs. "There's a moment inbetween when neither one of us is in control, so the body sort of sags. Could be dangerous, if we have to do it under fire or something."

_Hey, if it's an action-like situation, it's all yours – you're the active Assassin here, remember?_

Desmond considers it and then hums. _Think I'd need to do more than just fix up your legs to make that work. You don't have the muscle tone to pull off my stunts. Sorry._

Rebecca sort of makes a mental face at him. _You grew muscles by laying down all day in the Animus – how hard could it be?_

 _Yeah, I did, didn't I?_ Desmond agrees. _Huh. You know, that really should've been a warning sign for all the DNA shenanigans, when you think about it._

Shaun and Harlan stare at them silently and Desmond looks between them, growing a little awkward at the staring. "Um, yeah," he says and looks at Harlan. "Hi. I'm Desmond, I don't think we've met?"

"Yeah, right – nice to meet you?" Harlan says. "Though we did sort of meet before, when you were in coma."

"Oh. Right, that. Yeah, I remember now – or, I mean, Rebecca remembers it. Sorry," Desmond shrugs Rebecca's shoulders and then looks at Shaun as he makes a noise. "What?"

"You're in Rebecca's head," Shaun says, accusingly.

"In her neck, actually."

"Yeah, sure, fine – but you have access to her _brain_ ," Shaun says.

Desmond lowers Rebecca's hand from her neck and then blinks at him. "Well. Yeah. And she has access to mine. I'm trying not to be a complete asshole, but it's kind of unavoidable. We're kind of sharing a body here. It's kind of how it goes."

Shaun makes a sort of frustrated motion at him. "Okay, how can we know it's not you talking all the time, pretending to be Rebecca?" he demands.

Desmond gives him a look. "Well. I guess… I don't know," he admits. "I'm not sure why I'd do that? Why would I do that? Would be a bit of a dick move, really."

Shaun squints at him suspiciously.

 _Tell him to stop being a dick,_ Rebecca thinks.

"Rebecca is telling me to tell you to stop being a dick," Desmond says obligingly.

Shaun leans back a little at that, making a face. "Yeah, alright," he says and then squints. "Which one of you just kissed me?"

"Is that really the issue here?" Harlan asks.

Shaun purses his lips mutinously.

It probably isn't the time and place to kiss him again, but Desmond kind of really wants to. "I missed you," he says honestly. "And it was Rebecca. Do you want me to do it too? I could totally do it."

"Oh," Shaun says, going red. "Maybe – later."

"Aww."

"Right, okay," Harlan says and stands up, shoving the tarp away. "Since we're all awake and conscious, we should start thinking about what to do. Abstergo is out there looking for us, and we're stuck in a _shed_ and it's only a matter of time before they find us. We should get a move on."

"Right," Shaun says, clearing his throat and stands up as well. "Desmond – Rebecca, can you move?"

"Yeah, we're good now," Desmond agrees. "What's the plan?"

"We'll head to Hampton and try and get a boat," Shaun says. "Altaïr II is on the way, but they can't get too close to the shore without risking detection, so we need to get to them. Altaïr II being a ship from which -"

"Gavin Banks operates, I know, Shaun. If Rebecca knows it, I know it," Desmond says and stands up. Thanks to Rebecca's own knowledge of her body, the change in balance, weight and height isn't that jarring, but – it's still something he will need to get used to. She's so _short_.

_Rude._

"So how are we going to get there?" Desmond asks.

"First things first," Shaun says, packing his laptop away. "We need to steal a car. Preferably one that won't be missed anytime soon."

"I'm on it," Harlan says and hands Desmond his backpack. "Take care of that, it has all the data we have on you."

"Okay, sure," Desmond says, shouldering the backpack. Harlan slips away from the shed and into the darkness outside, leaving them alone. Desmond shifts where he stands, and then stretches out Rebecca's right leg, rubbing at it near the knee.

"What?" Shaun demands. "Are you – is she hurting? This is seriously not the time for her to start smoking."

"Oh, I wonder how weed comes across now," Desmond hums with interest. "But no, I'm fixing up her bones, and it itches."

"You're what?" Shaun demands. "But – she broke her bones in like _eight places_ , how can you just fix that?"

"Magic," Desmond says, just to see Shaun's expression – inside him, Rebecca snorts at the sheer level of _are you fucking with me_ Shaun is aiming at them. "I control her nervous system, Shaun, which gives me a full control of all her bodily functions, and with enough enzymes, proteins and everything else I can throw at her, I can do pretty much everything I want. So, yeah. I'm fixing her chronic pain."

Shaun blinks, looks for something to bitch about in that, and then scowls. "Okay," he says, like it's anything but. "Good."

"Could probably fix your back too," Desmond comments. "And eyesight."

Shaun looks intrigued despite himself and then shakes his head. "This is bloody _insane_ ," he mutters. " _Desmond_ , what the hell?"

Desmond offers him an awkward smile. "Yeah, it's pretty weird for us too," he agrees and rubs at Rebecca's neck. He can't feel himself there, but at the same time he can – he can feel the weight and force of Rebecca's hand, rubbing over the muscles around him. He's already healed the damage he made there, so it weirdly nice, really.

 _Hey, could you give me abs?_ Rebecca asks with interest.

 _Yeah._ It wouldn't even be that hard – just increase metabolism, decrease fat retention, and basically give her a hormone boost in just the right places and… _Yeah, I could._

 _Nice_.

Desmond looks at Shaun, who is still staring at them like he doesn't know what to make of them. "Thanks," Desmond says awkwardly. "For coming to get me. You thought I was dead, but you came to get me anyway. Thank you for that."

"Oh, bloody hell," Shaun mutters, takes Rebecca's head between his hands, and kisses him. "You complete fucking _nuisance_ , can't even die properly – for fuck's –"

Yeah. _Nice_.


	5. Chapter 5

Rebecca can't really remember time before the chronic pain. It's not that it's been there for that long – it hasn't, up until age nineteen her life had been relatively pain-free, disregarding the occasional bouts of migraine maybe. At nineteen she took a bad fall snowboarding, which led to seventeen days in a hospital and four surgeries, and eventually to what then looked like constant background radiation of pain for the rest of her life. And honestly, she was almost fine with that. Sure, she couldn't do sports anymore but she could smoke weed legally and really, it could've been worse, much worse. She could've broken her back – she could've died.

So she got used to the pain to the point where it was just a part of her life, like body type or sound of her voice. It could be averted with medication and physical therapy, but overall the baseline was just pain now. Rebecca can handle pain. So she wakes up couple nights a month wanting to scream into a pillow until her legs stopped cramping – but that's what the weed is for. It wouldn't get better by complaining anyway, so she just doesn't.

But man, the difference it makes, to just have that gone. You don't really know how much easier things can be until the obstacles in your way are gone. It's not just the lack of the pain either – it's the ease of movement, which is all new. Her legs bend in a way she isn't sure they have in years, at all without resistance. She can feel it – she could do a split now, and it wouldn't even hurt.

And Desmond is just starting fixing up her body. She can feel the little changes everywhere, in the sudden stability of her fingers, the ease with which she can move, to the smallest thing like how clear her airways feel – the lack of floaters in her eyes. It's like Desmond is turning small dials inside her, optimising systems – or like he's running some biological virus detection and defragmentation program, flushing her systems of all the buildup she's accumulated over the years.

 _Well, in a way, I guess I am_ , Desmond muses in her ear. _You don't mind, do you? I just want to make you healthier._ It's not really a guessing – this close they know what the other is feeling and thinking after all, he already knows the answer.

Rebecca feels a bit like she could run a marathon – not just that she should or would, but could, as in, she's suddenly physically capable of marathon running. _Hell no, I don't mind – you just keep doing what your do, you funky brain snake you._

Desmond lets off a burst of warm amusement and then concentrates elsewhere – he's doing something to her heart. _You have genetic disposition to heart murmur – it's not an issue yet, and I'm making sure it never will be._

Rebecca is suddenly very aware of all the future hospital visits that will never need to happen now. Damn, abs might be the least of the things she'll get out of this. _Desmond, man, I don't know what to say._

 _Hamburgers for dinner will suffice_ , Desmond says with mocking graciousness.

Rebecca would feel a bit guilty about the whole thing if she didn't feel how Desmond was feeling about it – didn't feel what he was getting from the arrangement. It wasn't just the helplessness of his existence in the tank and the pain air caused – in hindsight, she's not doing that to him again, never. Being inside her isn't just a better alternative and he isn't doing these things just because he feels he has to.

Desmond is genuinely happy to do it, to be there, to make her better. Plus, he gets to feel what she felt, physically and mentally, and is sort of basking in it like a happy cat.

It's kind of sad to realise in hindsight, after all the truly unpleasant crap Desmond had gone through, but the guy is a honest to god hedonist, in the original sense of the word. Sure, he has self-sacrificing world-saving tendencies up the wazoo – but underneath it all, Desmond Miles just liked liked nice things, liked feeling nice and making others feel nice. If he had that and no end of the world pressing on him, he was content.

And apparently being inside Rebecca feels a bit like a constant full-body hug – so that's cool.

"Rebecca?" Shaun asks, and Rebecca opens her eyes, turning to him. They're still riding on a smooth stretch of road – another half an hour to Hampton to go, it feels like – and he doesn't sound urgent.

"Yeah?" Rebecca asks.

"You wandered off to lala land there – are your alright?" Shaun asks worriedly.

"Yeah, fine. Desmond is doing some fine-tuning inside me, it's pretty crazy and amazing," Rebecca says and rubs at her neck, enjoying the mental purr from Desmond as he feels her hand. "What's up?"

Shaun looks at her consideringly, sharing a look with Harlan and then looking back. "You never did say how it feels, to have him in there."

Rebecca looks at him, rubbing on her neck and then lowering her hand. He's worried, and she's never been good at dealing with that – usually she just brushes it off until he stops asking and then feels slightly guilty about it until they can shout a bit at each other and it's alright again. But now…

"I'm good, Shaun," she says honestly. "Physically it doesn't feel like anything, really – I don't really feel him there at all, and he's already healed the damage he did along the way."

"What damage, what are you talking about – he did damage?" Shaun asks with disbelief. "If Desmond broke something –"

"He's paid for it, honest," Rebecca laughs. "He had to break through the back of my throat into my neck, Shaun, something had to give. It's fine now, though."

"Why'd he do it that way, anyway?" Harlan asks, looking back at them over his shoulder. "According to the files, Goa'uld usually go through the front or the back of the neck."

"He didn't want to leave a scar," Rebecca says and thinks, _Which I appreciate, Des, thanks._

 _I'd say any time, but hopefully I won't have to break through your neck like that again,_ Desmond answers. _I know it hurt._

_It was just a moment and I'm fine now._

_Still._

"Okay so physically it doesn't feel like anything. You have a forty centimeter snake wrapped around your spine and you can't even tell, that's not concerning at all," Shaun scoffs. "What about mentally then? There's a mental component, isn't there?"

"Yeah, we got a mind blend thing going on," Rebecca agrees. "His thoughts to my mind, my thoughts to his."

"You actual nerd," Shaun says, accusingly.

"Star Trek is popular culture, Shaun, get off your high horse."

_You're both nerds._

_You made bets about stock market with customers for fun, you're secretly the worst one of all of us,_ Rebecca answers amusedly. _You just hide it better._

_My predictions were never very good – and I never actually did anything with stocks. You'd need legal identity for that._

"Are you talking to him right now?" Shaun demands. "What are your talking about – are you talking about me?"

"No, we're talking about the stock market," Rebecca answers and gives him a look. "Self-centred much?"

Shaun huffs in outrage while Rebecca grins internally and Desmond, again, projects the urge to kiss the dumbass. _I think he's feeling left out,_ Rebecca comments, a little regretfully.

_Little he knows._

Rebecca reaches out to take Shaun's hand – which he then stares at incredulously like he can't believe it. They aren't very physically demonstrative people, usually, but Desmond just makes her want to touch Shaun, just for the pleasure and casual intimacy of touching him. Before she might have not bothered, Shaun always makes faces at her like it's the worst thing ever… but now she doesn't buy it. Not after Desmond pointed out that for all his bluster and sarcasm, Shaun is never the one to pull away first.

"He's just this little voice in my ear that occasionally tells me to eat hamburgers, and is also cleaning up my arteries," Rebecca says, gripping Shaun's hand securely.

"And occasionally overwrites your autonomy and uses your body," Shaun comments, still inclined to be pessimistic and wary. "That can't be good for you."

"It's not that bad, actually – it's not like I'm not still aware of everything that happens," Rebecca shrugs. "Yeah, it's weird, but – it's not Juno stabbing Lucy kind of possession "

"Right," Shaun says, obviously not appreciating the comparison, but it had to be said – and it's what he's gotta be thinking about.

"It's not like Desmond wouldn't stop if I asked him to," Rebecca adds. "He gets how much it sucks to not have control."

Shaun presses his lips together, looking down at their hands.

"Also I really appreciate him fixing my legs. And my migraines. And my cat allergies," Rebecca says. "And everything else, because it turns out human bodies aren't very good at keeping it together."

"There's that," Shaun agrees, blowing out a breath. Then, frowning, he looks away, out of the window. "When he offered to fix my back, was he being serious?"

"Considering the stuff he's done for me, you bet – it probably wouldn't even be hard for him," Rebecca shrugs. "And let me tell you, the difference is amazing."

Shaun clears his throat while Harlan watches them in the rearview mirror. "So he can and would switch hosts. What happens to the first host if he does that?"

Rebecca blinks at that, a little unsure, and Desmond nudges at her mentally to step aside. "Normally Goa'uld only do it under duress, because it's not safe for them to be outside hosts. It's usually only done when the host dies," he says honestly. "So there's no precedent. But I think I could do it safely, leaving behind antibiotic enzymes which will quickly help Rebecca heal over the exit damage."

"See, I am not that thrilled about the exit damage," Shaun comments. "Or the entry damage. Or the fact that you _passed out_ for _hours_."

Desmond looks at him, which is a really weird feeling for Rebecca – having her eyes and body move, but not being in control of it. She can feel it all as if it is her doing it, but – she isn't.

"But you want us to do it to prove that Rebecca isn't under my control," Desmond guesses.

Shaun grips her – their – hand tighter. "Yes," he simply says, and refuses to apologise.

_Oh, Shaun._

Desmond is quiet for a moment, thinking about it – thinking back to the ancient biological experiments Goa'uld had done in human bodies to figure out the optimal ways to use and manipulate them. His ability to fix Rebecca wasn't exactly instinctive – there had once been a Goa'uld Queen who's dedicated her life to figuring out the intricacies of their hosts so that they'd be able to serve as the ultimate host for her young, and that knowledge now lives in all her progeny, Desmond included.

Except Desmond was also a human once, and he has the memories of thousands of humans still unspooling in his memory, along with a whole heaping of Isu knowledge too. All that put together, there should be a solution there.

Normally, Goa'uld doesn't take the sort of time Desmond had needed with Rebecca – because normally Goa'uld don't care about being nice about the blending or doing it without causing irreparable mental damage. Desmond had done it to avoid hurting her – and he'd done it on nothing more than honest concern and subconscious understanding of human and Goa'uld anatomy.

It's kind of amazing to feel Desmond working his way through the understanding. The way he thinks is still sort of human – but the speed and how he makes connections and runs down possibilities, that's something completely alien.

"Whatever you do, maybe not now, okay?" Harlan says hopefully. "We're almost there, and then we probably need to steal a boat, and I'd really rather not do it while one of us is unconscious."

"Yeah." Desmond lifts Shaun's hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. "Later. I'll think of something," he promises and bows their head.

" _We'll_ think of something," Rebecca says, while Shaun's fingers twitch. "Because guess what, I'm not going to let you keep him. I got a serious stake in here."

"What is this, Desmond-specific share exchange? Custody agreement?" Shaun asks, swinging right back to bitching with obvious relief.

"He's going to give me _abs_ , Shaun."

"What, seriously? That's – that's what you're worried about here, your abs? Your have a seriously skewed priorities, Rebecca – the world almost ended, Abstergo just attacked us, we're running for our lives –"

"Driving, really," Harlan comments. "And all within legal speed limits too –"

"- and your have a snake in your head," Shaun continues, louder, ignoring him while Rebecca grins, "and your first concern is having a _flat stomach_."

"Not flat – _ripped_ ," Rebecca says seriously, while inside her Desmond laughs.

"Oh yeah, that's much better. You barbarian."

He doesn't let go of their hand though, the sap.

* * *

 

It's the expectation of worse things that makes her and Desmond decide in unison that he'd take over during the transit from the car to finding and taking the boat out. Not that Rebecca couldn't do it, or that she isn't now fixed up enough to run, but… she's not the Master Assassin.

 _Well, neither am I, I just got the skills,_ Desmond says a little morosely. _I haven't even been initiated into the Brotherhood._

_If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… besides, the initiation isn't all that. We don't even do the burn Ezio had to go through – you just take the leap and that's it. Boring._

_What, you'd rather do it how Altaïr did it?_

_Well, no. All I'm saying is that it's not very ceremonious,_ Rebecca says. _Having seen how Ezio did it for his initiates and for Claudia, ours just didn't feel that significant. I get why we don't carry the symbology anymore, but…_

But it didn't really feel like joining a cult easily thousand years old, and having seen alternatives, she feels a little robbed. There could've at least been torches.

 _Well, in either case, I think you can learn my skills. I think I can pass them onto you,_ Desmond comments.

_Later. You just handle things for now, we'll figure out the rest later._

So it's Desmond who steps out of the car and when Shaun tells them there's activity in the marina they had been aiming for, it's Desmond who wants to go check it out.

"Are your insane?" Shaun hisses at him. "In case you've forgotten, that's Rebecca's body, not yours! It can't pull off the stunts you can!"

"Funny, that's what I said," Desmond comments and rocks a little on the balls of their feet. "But that was couple hours back, and now I can."

"Desmond –"

"Shaun," Desmond answers. "Trust me. I'm not going to let her get hurt. Just let me do my thing."

Shaun's obviously not happy about it, but he can't come up with a good argument against it. And Rebecca can see why. Harlan is a good Assassin – but he's nowhere near the level of a Master Assassin… and after Ezio, Desmond had been in a league of his own. And that was before alien biology-related superpowers.

So, they go to check it out – with a headset, of course, and Shaun and Harlan running interference over the local networks, hacking into cameras. And oh boy, it's good to be outdoors – not specifically for Rebecca, she's been outdoors aplenty – but poor Desmond has been cooped up in a tank for days on end now, and before that weeks in a cocoon.

 _Fresh air_ , Desmond thinks and breathes their lungs full. _You know, for all this Assassin work, I tend to get cooped indoors a lot_.

 _Well,_ Rebecca says and can't quite continue it to the natural conclusion of "better than dead". _Maybe things will be changing a bit now. Though gotta say, this is a bit new to me too – I mean, we did some undercover work at Abstergo Entertainment, but… not action_.

 _Here's hoping there won't be any action tonight either,_ Desmond thinks and then sets out towards their target as their headset crackles. He hits it with two fingers. "Yeah?"

"I'm just pulling up the files on the marina. We're looking for something fast and small which people won't immediately miss – a deck boat preferably, looks like there's plenty of those," Harlan says, "And maybe not the fanciest one in the marina; let's not risk getting the coast guard called on us immediately."

"We'll keep an eye out for one," Desmond agrees, going to automatically tug on a hood, which Rebecca obviously isn't wearing. He makes a slight face and then pretends he didn't do any such thing. Rebecca mentally grins at him and he huffs. "What about the action? Abstergo?"

"There's definitely more guards around than there would usually be – something's got them roused up," Harlan answers. "Let me see if we can…"

"Oh, it's definitely Abstergo," Shaun says urgently. "Or NID. Damn it, they must be in our communications, to figure out that we were coming this way, that we're aiming for the Altaïr – if the ship is already compromised –"

Desmond hesitates at the edge of the pier, taking a seat on a park bench and looking around. There's a rotation of guards walking the lengths of the piers and doing rounds on the shore – and they don't look local, to Rebecca's eye.

And then they're all glowing in hues or red and white while the world around them goes almost completely black.

 _Uh, Desmond?_ she asks.

 _Eagle Vision_ , he answers, turning their head a little and marking their targets. _Four of those guys are told to shoot to kill if necessary, all have guns. Hmm._ He hits the comm. "It doesn't look like these guys know we're here specifically. How many marinas are there around here?"

"A few, why?" Shaun asks.

"I bet there are some _extra_ guards on those too," Desmond says. "Abstergo, or whoever, has tagged all the marinas around here expecting us, but didn't know which one we were going for, precisely."

"So, this is a bust," Harlan says, muttering a curse.

"Hmm," Desmond hums, thinking.  _I could take those guys out, but whether I could do it before they called for backup, that's another thing,_  he admits silently.

 _We could have the others in place, make a run for the nearest usable boat while you do?_ Rebecca suggests. You take the bad guys out, Shaun and Harlan make it for the boat, we ride on out of here and into the sunrise.

 _That'll just get the coast guard on us, not really stealthy,_ Desmond points out. _Especially not if the_ Altaïr _might be compromised._

 _Yeah_ … Rebecca agrees and chews on it. _Maybe some private marina or a shipping dock could have a usable ship, or… maybe we should skip over the bridge and to_ _Portsmouth_ _?_

 _Chances are, there will be people there too,_ Desmond muses. _If they can get people here this fast, they won't leave any gaps._

"Desmond? Rebecca?" Shaun asks in their ear. "What's going on?"

"I'm thinking," Desmond says, opening Rebecca's hands and closing them – missing, she realises, hidden blades and weapons. "Really could use some sleeping darts right now. Or berserk darts. Do we still deal in berserk poisons?"

"In _what_?" Shaun demands over the headset.

 _What, like Haytham's dad used?_ Rebecca ask interestedly. _You remember that?_

Him and a lot of others, judging by the wry agreement Desmond gives her before looking up and to the marina. Sleeping, distraction and just outright psychosis-inducing poisons had been the weapons of choice for Assassins from late 16 hundreds to early 18 hundreds, and Desmond's whole bloodline seems to miss them right now.

 _If we want to get through here without anyone noticing us, I would need to take out all those guards,_ he thinks distractedly, _Without any one of them noticing the others going down, or giving them any chance to alert backup or call the cops…_

Rebecca sort of side eyes him as Desmond calculates odds in his head. Then Desmond hits the headset. "If I get a say, in the future I want smoke bombs, sleeping darts and berserk darts. In that order," he says and stands up. "Guys, those cameras – are they on?"

"Give me a moment," Shaun answers. "… and they're looped. Whatever you do, you got maybe ten minutes to do it."

"More than I need, thanks."

And then Rebecca gets to backseat ride on a Master Assassin at work. And sure, it's nothing they hadn't done before, first in the Animus and then in real life – but this is _first person_ , she's seeing through Desmond's eyes – her eyes? – as he moves. She can see his hands – their hands – up close and in action. And it's… it's beyond anything.

The _situational awareness_ the guy has is incredible. With the Eagle Vision making everything weird and dark and shiny all at once, Desmond is constantly aware of where everyone is, how they are moving, where they are heading – and most importantly, how aware of _him_ they are. It's in part some sort of weight sixth sense and in part actual intelligence – Desmond is actually counting time and velocity and relative motion as he picks and chooses his targets – his avenue of approach.

The first guy goes down like it's a move in a dance. Desmond moves behind him, silent on Rebecca's feet, and pulls him down, grabs his mouth, and spins him to the asphalt behind some crates, pinning the guy down with efficient ease while smothering his mouth and nose, keeping him from breathing. The guy struggles, but can't make a noise, can't get up – there's a knee on his throat – and eventually goes silent, clawing at the marina dock until his lights go out.

Desmond checks the guy's pulse, and then presses his back against the crates, glancing over them. No one noticed.

 _Damn,_ Rebecca thinks.

And then Desmond is moving towards the next guy. A man sitting on a pole smoking a cigarette – he's in a headlock before he can finish inhaling. Rebecca winces at the idea of being choked out with smoke in your lungs – Desmond, if he feels similar sympathy, doesn't show it. He just hauls the still struggling man down the pier, and as the man stops struggling, he drags his body into the nearest boat and leaves him there. Then, crouching behind the boat, he watches for the next guy.

The third guy Desmond drags into some decorative bushes, silencing the man's struggling with what looks almost like something out of Star Trek – though instead of nerve pinch, Desmond just digs his fingers into the guy's neck, manually restricting his windpipe until the guy stops breathing. Another quick check for a pulse and then it's off to the next one.

They're just down to two more people when Shaun sends them a SOS.

"Guys, I think we're busted," he hurriedly. "Harlan's trying to get us out of here, but we're boxed in on the street – if –" and there it ends.

Rebecca can feel their heart skip a beat. _Desmond –_

Desmond is already running, somehow still silent, as he makes it across the marina and into the street in just a few seconds flat. Behind them, no one even noticed, at least Rebecca doesn't think so – it all happens so fast. Then Desmond is running back at full, near manic, speed. _Damn, I already miss knowing you two were always together and I didn't have to worry about you,_ he thinks furiously.

 _What – worry about us? Imagine what it felt like for_ us _, just sitting back while you went out there, alone with nothing more than a drone for a backup,_ Rebecca thinks, though she's not really sure it makes anything better or worse. Desmond could handle himself. Shaun… Shaun isn't a fighter.

If something happens to that asshole…

The speed with which Desmond is running is mind-blowing. Goa'uld physiology at work, boosting the human physiology around it, making it stronger, more resilient, making every step stronger, every leap longer  – which would be really interesting, if Shaun was still on the comms and –

Desmond seems to sense something before she does, because the next thing he is scaling up the side of a building, hauling himself on the roof and stopping there, crouched. Then Rebecca senses it too. It's not quite like having a mental minimap, but suddenly Desmond, and through him Rebecca, just knows where everyone is in relation to each other. Two blue dots, Shaun and Harlan, surrounded by eight red ones, at both ends. Shaun and Harlan are still in the car, so are two of the red dots – six are out.

Desmond leaps and there's a weirdest _stretching_ sensation as he thinks through a plan while in _mid-fall_. It's not exactly like the time stops – it's more like Desmond just speeds up, somehow, pushing his Goa'uld processing capacity to the fullest, planning, plotting, strategising.

He lands on the back of the first guy, reaching to grab the second, wrestling the gun from his hand as he falls. The first guy dies on impact – the other when Desmond fires into his head. Then he's rolling back in one fluid motion, beside the car blocking the front of the road. He aims in though the side window, shoots the driver and then aims up, over the top of the SUV, and shoots the fourth man from the car. Just like that, in seven seconds flat, there are four men dead.

Rebecca can barely process it, it happens so fast. Desmond doesn't stop, though, and while Harlan stares with wide eyes from behind the van's steering wheel, Desmond takes a few running steps, vaults onto the roof of the van, and then takes aim.

Four inhumanely fast shots – three dead bodies on the asphalt and one slumped back behind the steering wheel, bringing the total of dead people up to eight, and without a single bullet wasted.

 _Holy shit_.

Goa'uld reaction times are _terrifying_.

"I think we need to run now," Desmond says and crouches on the roof of the van. "Guys, grab your shit and get out before we start hearing sirens. Are the cameras still offline?"

It takes a moment before either Shaun or Harlan gets out of the car. Shaun comes first, staring at Desmond and Rebecca on the roof with wide eyes and then breathes out, "Oh my god," in a breathless tone of terror and utter amazement. "Oh my _god_!"

"Shaun," Desmond says tightly and slides down from the top of the van. "There's no time. Grab your shit and move. Is there anything vital in the van?"

Harlan reaches in, nodding. "Yeah, the backpack and my laptop – Rebecca's too – "

Desmond grabs the backpack, hoisting it over their shoulders and then turns to Shaun – who still looks a little wide-eyed, but he's moving now. Desmond turns his eyes down to the men on the ground – all eight of them dead.

Then he goes and systematically grabs as many weapons as he can – including, Rebecca is a little alarmed to find, flash bangs, smoke grenades, tasers and what looks like _plastic explosives_.

"I think these guys are NID," Shaun says, shakily. "Abstergo guards don't carry kits like these."

"Whoever they are, let's not wait for more of them to come," Harlan says, grabbing a gun and then hesitating as in distance sirens start blaring out. "Let's go."

Of course they don't get off so easily. On foot and running with backpacks and laptop cases, they make a noticeable group, and since someone knew they were coming, someone prepared. And soon, they find who. There are cars screeching in, vans, security cars – full of more soldier-types, and also what does look like Abstergo security personnel.

"Where the hell are these guys even coming from?" Shaun complains as they run.

And at the head of the group is Juhani Otso Berg, climbing out of a SUV with a radio in hand, speaking rapidly – and somehow, despite the distance, Desmond can _hear it_ , "… target acquired, moving to close in on them. Keep the police at bay, we don't need them underfoot."

Then the guy takes out a sniper rifle and takes aim.

"Guys, run," Desmond snaps. "Find a boat you can use and _run_!"

Shaun stops immediately to argue. "We're not leaving you – "

"We'll catch up, Shaun, just _run_!" Desmond snaps, takes a flash bang in one hand and smoke grenade in other, and throws them both.

Rebecca can't keep up with what follows, it's just – too much sensory data. Desmond is doing little to accommodate her in sifting through it – he takes what their senses throw at them and runs with it, into the smoke and into the flashing light, and in the muzzle flashes of guns firing all around.

Distantly, she thinks – or Desmond thinks, or maybe she thinks with Desmond's speed of thought, either way, she thinks… _oh, we did this, we caused this_. All those Assassins in one place for that one raid on the laboratory in New York. The biggest Assassin Operation in a decade, maybe more. It must have been like kicking over an ant hill. And they did it to get Desmond. To get the thing Desmond was turning into.

And she can _feel_ Desmond's knowledge, the accumulated mass of technology behind him, and human history, and Isu history too, all of it still unspooling, growing vaster and _vaster_. Desmond knows how to build space ships, how to build weapons, how to destroy worlds. It's all there, just under the surface, he hadn't even gotten the chance to start figuring it out. Sekhmet knew what all the Goa'uld before her knew, and they knew  _so much…_ and what would Abstergo not do to get their hands on that?

So, ever since the raid Abstergo must have been listening, waiting, _watching_ , holding their breaths – until finally, they got their lead. How they got it, Rebecca doesn't know, but they got it somehow. Somehow they knew that Desmond had hatched a Goa'uld.

And they would do _everything_ to get him back.

Rebecca sees Desmond aiming, a single shot left in the chamber, and firing. it's not aimed at the attackers, the mess of soldiers and Templars, and whoever else – no, he's aiming at the ships, at one particular ship, with a splash of gold. A gas canister at the back of a boat – a boat where he'd left a unconscious guard… along with the guard's weaponry.

It's a gamble, Desmond's betting on all the soldiers having similar kits that would include explosives, and…

And yes, they do.

The series of explosions that follows is bright enough to light up the whole marina.

_Desmond, what about Shaun and Harlan -?!_

_They're already on the way –_ Desmond answers, and then he's running while Rebecca is quickly catching up with the sensory data – flashes in the corner of their eye, Shaun and Harlan going through the boats, selecting one, making their way in and starting the engine. Harlan jumping out, grabbing gas from another boat and then they're off, detaching from the marina and slowly going towards the end of the longest pier, and –

It's confusing, being so in the moment and also not – one moment she's figuring out what is going on, trying to keep up, the next Desmond is leaping off the pier, curling their body up small to make the leap as long as possible – they still only barely make it onto the boat. Shaun grabs a hold of them, hauls them in while Harlan guns it the hell out of there.

"You complete madmen, madwomen – whichever!" Shaun shouts, while the action catches up with them like a truckload of bricks, and suddenly their whole system lights up like a firework – their heart starts to pound, their lungs are heaving, their skin breaks out into sweat, and Rebecca realises they're _massively_ overheated.

"I think I pushed us a bit hard," Desmond gasps and slips out of control like someone hanging off a ledge, letting loose. Rebecca crash-lands into her own body to find it utterly wrung out, every muscle shaking, her hands numb, her eyes bleary.

"Holy shit," Rebecca gasps. "Did I just – did we just do that?"

"Yes, and you're never bloody doing it again!" Shaun shouts.

It's still coming back in fragmented bits, like single screenshots captured in a video full of nonsense – gun in her hand, in Desmond's hand, aiming. The bombs going off, and Desmond using them to his advantage, to take out as many enemies as he could. Otso Berg, taking cover behind a car door, and Desmond shooting the side mirror to stop him from shooting at Harlan and Shaun. There'd been a bit of hand to hand combat she'd completely missed. So much happened in such a short period of time. How did Desmond even get her body to move that fast?

 _Lots and lots of adrenaline_ , _and other things too. Tomorrow will probably suck a lot for you._

"Goa'ulds are fucking terrifying," Rebecca breathes out at still panicked Shaun and lets her head thunk against the bottom of the boat, as she tries to catch her breath.

 _Tell me about it_ , Desmond thinks tiredly, and then he's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goa'uld physical benefits + Assassin training...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for body modification. It's consensual, but it's kinda creepy. And the usual Goa'uld stuff. You know.

"And that, that about sums it up," Shaun finishes his report, coughing. "What I know of it, anyway, Rebecca's got a bit more intimate knowledge, but for that you're going to have to ask her – or _me_ , once Desmond's is up and about again, as it were, and we can have a go at our planned switcheroo."

"So you're really planning to go ahead with it, hosting Desmond in your own body?"

"If it can be done without leaving Rebecca with any adverse side effects, yeah," Shaun agrees. "Desmond and Rebecca promised to figure something out – though that was before our little marina incident."

Incident, which, apparently, barely even made it into the news. Whoever it was behind the attack, Abstergo or NID, they cleaned up fast – the most there was to be heard or read about the incident was a rumour of gas canister overheating and exploding and causing a bunch of damage – and the alleged gunshots were just prelude to the explosion, and no, of course there weren't any spec ops guys just slaughtered at the pier, no siree, perish the thought.

The Assassins had barely been able to snatch the surveillance footage off the net before the records had been scrubbed – it's now playing on a nearby screen, at 50% speed, and it's still hard to see all the stuff Rebecca had done. What Desmond within her body had done.

Shaun's hands are still shaking a bit.

Gavin Banks says nothing for a moment, standing there with his arms folded, thinking as they eye the footage. Rebecca isn't there – she's with the ship's doctor, getting checked out and probably pumped full of IV fluids. Desmond had wrung her dry at the marina, apparently, pushing almost every muscle of her body to the brink. She'd been in a pretty bad shape, by the time they reached _Altaïr II._

Gavin clears his throat. "And if I order you not to? Just out of curiosity," he says quickly. "You're one of our better tacticians, Shaun, and you've been working closely with Bill before and after the flare and all that entailed – it's a bit much for you to go and willingly compromise yourself."

"With all due respect, Gavin, I don't care," Shaun says and squeezes his hands into fists. "It's Rebecca. I'm doing it." And it's _Desmond,_ and – and – bollocks. After what he's seen, Desmond kind of terrifies him – which, paradoxically, makes him want to take the bastard on even more. "I'm doing it, if it can be done safely, I'm doing it."

Gavin hums, glancing towards where Harlan is conked out by the wall, fast asleep. Then their new Mentor pushes away from the console and walks a few steps back and a few forward, thinking. "I've read your reports – Rebecca's, Harlan's and Bill's too – considering the nature of the Goa'uld," he says. "Plus, as the Mentor I have access to intelligence you don't have about them."

"The plants we have at NID and SGC?" Shaun guesses.

"And some other intelligence our historians have been compiling, based on the few facts we have on Sekhmet," Gavin agrees. "The threat level is unprecedented for us, it goes way beyond what Abstergo might offer. Beyond anything the Templars have done."

"Knowing that out there are people who can destroy planets puts things into perspective, huh?" Shaun mutters.

"That it does," Gavin agrees, humming. "We aren't equipped to spread out our struggle to a galactic level. We can barely keep up with terrestrial issues, never mind interstellar."

"That doesn't mean we should stick our heads in  the sand and just forget them," Shaun argues quickly. "Abstergo's not going to forget, and there are already agencies, _government agencies_ , in on this. United States military is already visiting other planets – making enemies that pose threat on a global scale. All sentimentality on my part aside… Desmond is the only foot we've got through this door."

Gavin stops his leisurely pace and looks at him. "So, not just a personal attachment, is it?" he asks curiously.

Shaun clears guys throat. "Just – keeping all the angles in mind," he says. "Also what's on that footage, that's just the tip of the iceberg of what Desmond's doing," he motions to the footage still playing. "He's been fixing Rebecca's health issues since he got into her – you know she's been suffering from chronic pain for the better part of a decade? Apparently it's all gone. Now, if he can do that and is still willing to leave her, rather than, I don't know, demanding she serves as his host in perpetuity… well."

The idea still kinda terrifies him, but it also excites him in almost equal measure. Mostly he just wants Desmond to leave Rebecca to prove to all of them that he can and will. Then, once he knows, once Rebecca knows, once _everyone_ knows where they and Desmond stand, then they can move on. Maybe.

Gavin eyes him thoughtfully for a while, not saying anything, thinking. It's different from how Bill looked at them when he was making big tough decisions – though just as inscrutable maybe, it's impossible to say what Gavin might be planning. But he doesn't look as cold and calculating as Bill used to – Gavin doesn't make you feel like he's looking right through you, or like there's a great big board out there and a little insignificant chess piece with your name on it.

Finally the Mentor turns away. "We'll see what Doctor Chiu thinks," he says. "After that we'll choose how to go about it. Your will have your way, Shaun, if it's _safe_. The three of your have earned the right to get what you want in this," he says. "The whole planet is in your debt. But we will have to consider how we do this."

Shaun watches him warily. "What do you mean, _how_?"

"You're taking an alien entity into your body and mind – what kind of changes that makes on a physical and a mental level has to be considered," Gavin says plainly. "The least we can do is to get a psych evaluation on you before and after – Rebecca will have to be compared to her own earlier records. Depending on whatever alterations this causes on your decision making ability, we will proceed accordingly."

Shaun arches his brow a little. "Damn. We care about operatives' mental health now? Since when?"

Gavin gives him a look. "Since _now_ ," he says. "There are other things to consider, and Chewy's read on the decision. Let's just not jump head first into this, alright?"

Shaun eyes him warily but nods. "Agreed," he says. "But if it proves safe, and Desmond and Rebecca figure out how to do it without causing damage… we're doing this." And he wasn't about to let it be prolonged with _soons_ and _after these tests_ and _the time isn't right_. Due diligence yes, he can get behind that, but this would not be conveniently forgotten in limbo of _there are things we need to consider first_.

Gavin considers him seriously and nods. "Alright," he says. "Now get out of here – go see Rebecca and take the day off – we'll talk more tomorrow."

Shaun eyes him dubiously and then gets up, feeling his whole body creak. It wasn't even him running and bouncing around like a slinky in steroids, and he feels worn. "Before I go – any word on how Abstergo and NID found and tracked us?"

Gavin grimaces. "Not yet, but we're working on it. I'll let you know at soon as we have anything."

Shaun nods and then heads out while Gavin crouches in front of Harlan and goes about waking him up.

Rebecca is having her full physical done, blood work and MRIs and X-rays and everything. And Shaun had been right – she had been hooked into IVs, several of them. And she's drinking something bubbly and neon-coloured in top of everything else. It looks disgustingly full of carbohydrates.

"Stocking up on electrolytes. Desmond expended all my body's energy reserves," she explains cheerfully. "And apparently sprained four joints, tore a few ligaments, and don't ask about the muscle damage."

"The fact that you sound proud about it is mildly disturbing," Shaun says flatly. "Rebecca, bloody hell."

Rebecca grins. "I just won the Brotherhood award for _Maddest Medical Malady._ I am set in chocolate, booze and weed for months."

"Though judging by this, you don't need any of it," the doctor in charge, Stephanie Chiu, says while eying her scanners. On one of them there is an X-ray of Rebecca's shoulder and neck area – and ah, looks like Rebecca has a little something on her neck. Eurgh. The doctor doesn't seem bothered by it, despite how huge the thing looks. "Desmond is still out, is he?"

"Yeah, not a beep, he really wore himself out," Rebecca says, becoming serious as she lowers her pint of sugary swill and eyes the X-ray. "I'm pretty sure he's just resting – it feels like he is kind of like sleeping, but… obviously I'm a little new to this, and we haven't figured everything out yet."

"Well, it looks like he's working even while out for the count," Chiu hums and turns to Rebecca. "Your levels are stabilising faster than can be accounted for by the IV. Hm. Let's have a look at that shoulder again."

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" Shaun demands.

"Another sprain, one of many," Rebecca says and looks down as the doctor pokes and tests the joint, moving Rebecca's arm this way and that.

"It already feels much better. Hmm, I think another scan, to see what's going on there," Chiu says and motions Rebecca towards a shielded booth where apparently they do their scanning. "Hop to it."

Shaun sits down to wait, watching Rebecca's back as she pushes her IV stand ahead of her, trying to figure out if he sees any change there. And, the worrying thing is, he does. It's not just that she stands differently, no longer favouring one side because of her legs, but she moves differently too. Rebecca has always been confident and at ease in her skin, but there's also been this bubble of personal space around her that was hard to cross. She wasn't a very physically demonstrative person, and you did not touch Rebecca Crane except on her terms.

And yet now it feels like he could just go to get and hug her, and maybe she wouldn't mind. Somehow, she just seems more open, physically.

Like Desmond had been.

Shaun looks down and at his fingers, spreading them out and watching his fingertips quiver. Still got adrenaline running in his system. He can only imagine what Rebecca must feel like.

"Ack," Rebecca says, coming out of the booth.

"What, what is it?" Shaun asks quickly.

"Desmond just woke up," she says and rubs at the back of her neck "And he feels worse than I do."

"Well. Suits him right, putting you through that. Could've gotten you both killed," Shaun says while Rebecca leans her head back and closes her eyes. "Is – is he okay though?"

Rebecca rolls her head, bowing. When she looks up again, her eyes flash golden and her voice becomes distorted. That is… really going to take some time to get used to, all of it.

"Yeah, definitely not doing that again, definitely not to that extent," Desmond groans. "Ow my glands, all of my glands – ow on _all of them_."

Shaun doesn't quite know how to parse that, so he just doesn't. "Desmond, if your had a face that wasn't also Rebecca's face, I'd punch you," he informs the guy. "What the bloody hell did you do?"

"Aside from making sure we weren't captured or killed? Geez, how about a little gratitude, you dick?" Desmond says and then, despite his words, hauls the IV stand over and then sort of collapses beside him. "Christ. When I heard they almost got to you – I panicked a little, okay? I'm used to knowing you and Rebecca had each other's back, and it sort of knocked me off my feet to realise you were alone."

Oh. Shaun blinks and then looks down at his hands again. The shaking's stopped. "I wasn't alone – Harlan was there, and he's not completely worthless," he says awkwardly. "And I don't think they would've outright shot us, not while we had useful intelligence. So, uh. I don't think we were in mortal peril – we were going to surrender, give you time to get to us. Which you – uh. You did do that. I guess."

Desmond sort of slumps at that, rubbing at Rebecca's shoulder, looking a little sheepish – which is not a look that fits Rebecca's face very well. Shaun looks at him, and – it's awkward. Shaun wants to reach out and touch... but he's been an asshole to the guy and isn't sure it'd be welcome at this point. Desmond's probably only doing his best with the weird hand given to him, and Shaun's been just… questioning him at every turn. And is probably going to continue doing it. And he's kinda been favouring Rebecca's side of things in this and, Desmond can't be feeling too happy about that either, and...

 _Bollocks_.

"What did you do, exactly?" Shaun asks, clearing his throat. "The way you moved, it was – inhuman."

"I would like to know too," Chiu says, coming to then with the finished X-rays. "Hi – Stephanie Chiu, I work as a medic here, on _Altaïr II_. You can call me Chewy – everyone does."

Desmond nods, eying her curiously. "Desmond Miles, nice to meet you."

It's still so bizarre, hearing Rebecca's mouth say that, even with the weird voice distortion.

Chewy nods and looks down at the X-ray. "The damage is going away fast, but just a couple of hours back Rebecca had everything from muscle strain to dangerous mineral and vitamin deficiencies, never mind hairline fractures on at least seven different bones. It didn't look like external damage, but… like her body had just suddenly massively overextended itself, in all directions," she says. "Rebecca explained what happened, but I think you're the source of the information here. What did you do exactly?"

Desmond looks at her, tilting his head. "It was a mess of chemicals, hormones and enzymes, which I fed into her body to make it work harder and faster than it normally would. Rebecca is saying I basically ran her system overclocked. I can probably list them out, but – neither Rebecca or I have the actual medical terminology to do it right."

Chewy frowns, lowering the x-ray and folding her arms. "Where did these chemicals, hormones and enzymes come from?"

"Rebecca's own hormonal glands mostly – some from me. It's part of what Goa'uld do to their hosts just as a baseline – they're just as a standard stronger and faster than before," Desmond admits. "I just did it – more."

"And the reason you lost consciousness?"

Desmond blinks with Rebecca's eyes and then shrugs. "Wore myself out, I guess – had to rest and regain chemical balance. Thanks for the magnesium, by the way," he nods to the IV. "Really needed it "

Chewy eyes him for a moment and then sighs. "Yeah, I've got no actual idea what's even going on here," she admits more to herself than them, shaking her head. "But Rebecca says you're good, so I will go with that. Let's start by working out a baseline for your combined physiology, and work our way from there figuring out how the hell you even function. I'd appreciate the list though – I'll get your an anatomy text or something, so if you know which glands they come from and can point them out, we can probably figure out what hormones got used."

"So pin the donkey's tail on which hormonal glands got kicked to overdrive? That's so professional," Shaun snorts. "Really, this paints such a comforting picture of the care and treatment around here, really get the feeling we're in the right hands."

Chewy casts him an unamused looks. "If you have a better idea, go right ahead, Hastings," she says. "I've taken all the samples, all the scans and performed every examination I can think of, and I still can't make heads or tails of this, because, oh right, I'm not qualified to perform medicine on _aliens_."

Well. When she puts it like that.

Chewy shakes her head and then smiles to Desmond and Rebecca. "I am going to stay working on those samples. I'll come back to check on your in an hour, the IVs should be done by then."

"Thanks, doc, appreciate it – though if it's not too much trouble, Rebecca could just use some real food," Desmond adds. "Preferable something high on carbs and iron."

Chewy arches a brow. "You know that sort of stuff? I mean, you can tell what she has deficiencies of?"

Desmond shrugs awkwardly.

"Hmm. That makes my work easier. I'll have someone fetch you something from the mess," Chewy says. "Now lay down and chill until the IVs are empty."

Shaun arches his brows as the Doctor heads off. "Nice to see you too, Chewy," he calls after her. "I'm feeling fine, by the way, thanks for asking!"

"Piss off, Hastings."

"She likes me, really," Shaun says and turns to look at Desmond – or Rebecca – who is stretching out his/her/their body out on the gurney.

Desmond sighs and closes their eyes, and the timbre of the sigh changes mid-inhale, the distortion fading off. "Desmond is making me want junk food," Rebecca says mournfully while blinking up at the ceiling. "I want a mountain of fries and I just bet there isn't anything like that here. We should've stopped for takeout."

"In the middle of running for our lives, are you mental?" Shaun says and quickly moves to sit on the bench beside the gurney.

"Would've been worth it," Rebecca says and stretches a little.

Shaun looks at her searchingly, and then, a little annoyed with himself for missing the opportunity to do it with Desmond, goes to grab for her hand. "Well, next time we're on shore, I'll find the greasiest chips for you," he says. "And hey, at least you won't be short on weed here, huh?"

"Yeah, that's nice," Rebecca says slowly, blinking at him with enough surprise and confusion that it almost makes Shaun pull back, but he holds on. Damnit, she held his hand in the van, so it's alright for him to do it too, right? Right. Has to be.

"How are you really?" Shaun asks, as if he isn't hyperaware of how sweaty his palm suddenly is.

"Tired and hungry," she says, her fingers flexing. "Getting better faster, now that Desmond is awake. You talked to Gavin?"

"Yeah, told him everything," Shaun agrees. "There are psych evals in our future, because that's suddenly a concern, our mental health."

"Oh, nice. I could use a decade or two in therapy," Rebecca comments and closes her eyes. "Would be nice to be all mentally adjusted and stuff."

Shaun scoffs. "Mentally adjusted people make for bad Assassins, historically speaking. All that good morality getting in the way of all the murdering."

Rebecca snorts through a yawn. "Yeah. I get why I'd need one, and Desmond too maybe. But you?"

"Apparently wanting to be a host is indicative of being compromised," Shaun mutters and then, daringly, winds his fingers amidst hers.

Rebecca looks at him silently for a moment and then smiles. "You're going to have to give it a few," she says quietly, gripping his hand a little tighter. "Desmond needs rest. And I don't think he's going anywhere until he fixed me up again."

"Snake's got priorities," Shaun says, and his voice does not waver, damn it all. "That's something."

"Asshole," Rebecca says fondly, blinking slowly and sleepily at him. "Be nice. Desmond's doing his best."

"Desmond almost got you _killed_."

"Nah. Saved us. That's nice," Rebecca says and smiles at him. "He's all cozy, it's nice. You're just mean."

Shaun gives her a dubious look. "Uhh, are you drugged? Did Chewy drug you?" he looks quickly around and then squints suspiciously at a plate of cookies sitting by what looks like Chewy's desk, and _of course_. "That witch, couldn't even wait until you were better before bolstering sales, huh? I'm going to have words with her management."

Rebecca laughs. "Nah, Shaun, chill. Chewy didn't gimme anything. I'm just tired, and Desmond is making happy hormones to ease the aches away," she says. "He's like doing organic muscle relaxant thing, it's nice." Then she squints at him thoughtfully. "Hey, speaking of Chewy, didn't she do, like… bioengineering or something?"

"Yeah, biological and chemical engineering," Shaun says, thinking back to her file. "On Abstergo's dime too. Did her post doc on membrane technology or something. Why?"

"Membranes. Yeah. That's a thought," Rebecca says sleepily and leans her head back. "Hmm "

Shaun eyes her warily. "That doesn't sound worrisome at all, Rebecca – what are you thinking?"

She hums, closing her eyes, and pretends to fall asleep. Jerk. Well, the joke's on her.

Shaun's not going anywhere.

* * *

 

It takes Rebecca less than a day to recover, which is _ridiculous_. And sure, there wasn't anything like majorly wrong with her – just million small bits and pieces that had been pulled to the brink, nothing major, just whole body muscle strain, no biggy. But still, she could at least pretend to be a human and take a reasonable time to recover. But no.

Next day, she's right as rain.

Shaun, who only had to run a little bit and ended up pulling a muscle somewhere along the way, is _resentful_. Especially so, because while she is testing out of medical care with flying colours – according to Chewy, Rebecca has the physique of an athlete now, which is unfair – Shaun is put through his psych evals. And personality tests. And they throw in a couple of IQ tests while they're at it, and he's pretty sure they do that only to mess with him.

"Well, I can't say much has changed," Gavin comments, looking through the papers, and were Shaun not the dignified man he is, he might have given the man a bird. Maybe even two. Gavin gives him a look. "You mind putting it on file why you want to host Desmond, your rationale for doing so, and maybe also a last will in case things go wrong?"

"You know, normally I am all for paperwork, but this whole psychoanalysing shtick isn't really my thing," Shaun says. "Do I really have to do this? Who is this nonsense even _for_? You know why I want to do this, and you're the top dog, as it were. The eagle on the mountaintop. Who else is there to report to?"

The Mentor arches a brow and puts the papers down. "It's something of an unprecedented case," he comments. "And, having taken over the Assassin Brotherhood at such crucial juncture… I've noticed a certain _lack_ of usable records."

Shaun gives him an uneasy look. "What, Bill didn't do his paperwork?"

Gavin hums. "I learned more about the Brotherhood from your reports, Shaun, than I have learned of it during my entire career," he admits.

"Um," Shaun answers. "Okay?"

"No, you don't understand," Gavin says, looking at him. "I have learned more about our Brotherhood, its history and traditions, from the derisive little margins in your reports than I was taught as a boy, than Bill told me – than anyone I think knows."

"I am flattered, but I did have something of an advantage on that field, in Desmond and the Animus," Shaun comments, uneasily. "And if you tell me this is a reason why I shouldn't do it –"

"No, no, that's not what I'm getting at," Gavin says with a sigh and folds his arms. "History has become the battlefield between us and Abstergo. That's been true since the first trials with the Animus begun. And from what we've learned so far, it's a field of battle Abstergo and Templar Order have been dominating for centuries. They have always been historically significant enough to leave marks. Assassins, in the meanwhile, bleed history. We wipe it out ourselves, we delete records, burn books, hide knowledge. We forget our past, and with each generation we're a little lesser for it."

Shaun clears his throat. That might've been something he'd written in a derisive little margin, once. Honestly, he didn't think anyone had been reading.

"And I get why we've done it," Gavin says. "But it won't do anymore. Because the moment we wipe out our footprints, we lose our foothold on the places we've been, and the things we've done. So, from here on out… we're keeping track of these things."

Shaun opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. "You think my taking on Desmond, that's historically significant," he says slowly.

Gavin arches his brows and then smiles a little. "We all got our gifts," he says and taps his temple. "I get the same feeling from you and Rebecca as I got the first time I heard the word _Animus_."

Shaun is quiet for a moment, letting that settle in. He hadn't even thought,  but… whichever way this went, ultimately, it would change things. "Yeah," he says. "Would a summation of my thoughts do?"

"Please," Gavin says. "And once you're done writing it, print it."

"Why don't I bind it in a book and start a Codex while I'm at it?" Shaun mutters.

"Not a bad idea, actually," Gavin says and pats his shoulder. "I have every confidence in you, Shaun."

Prick.

* * *

 

Though Rebecca heals, she doesn't exactly come out of the infirmary – if anything, she sticks there even more, conspiring probably about something evil and weed-related with Chewy – and judging by the sound of their voices, Desmond. The first time Shaun comes up on them plotting, Chewy is displaying what looks like protein structures on a whiteboard, while Desmond is commenting something about mutations, and it goes completely beyond his understanding. The next time there is a way too intimate drawing of a human neck anatomy, with a Goa'uld included, and all the sinews and veins, and ugh. It's more than Shaun wants to know about his future.

"You know, you're going to know about this when you blend," Rebecca comments.

" _Blend_?" Shaun demands.

"It's what it's called, when Goa'uld joins a human. Blending," Rebecca says and shrugs. "Well, it has a different Goa'uld word, but Desmond translates it as _blending_. Anyway, once you do it, you will know what he knows, so the wonderful world of human neck anatomy –"

"But I don't have to know it _now,_ do I? And besides, isn't it Desmond who will be doing the work, while I just take it and think of England?"

"Yeah, like you _ever_ had to think of England when taking it from Desmond –"

"Kinky," Chewy comments. "Please tell me there were pictures."

"Oh, I wish," Rebecca says while Shaun sputters. She grins – and then her eyes flash gold, and it's Desmond, grinning even wider.

"Oh, piss off, you," Shaun answers, turning away and feeling himself go red. Curse his English complexion.

"Sorry, no can do," Desmond says, not particularly apologetic, and grabs for his shoulder. "Also, if I'm ever going to blend with you, you need to know what I'm actually going to do to you. I won't do this without your consent."

"What, pierce through my neck and take over my body – I'm pretty sure I already consented to that," Shaun says, looking away and smothering the urge to rub at his neck. "I won't deny that the whole idea is extremely uncomfortable, but I am prepared, I am consenting, I am willing – I would just rather not think about the details."

"Yeah, well… since Rebecca wants to get me back, eventually… it's not that simple anymore," Desmond says, coughing, and motions him to join them. Slumping his shoulders, Shaun allows himself be drawn in.

Chewy grins, obviously enjoying his discomfort. "So, how about artificial organs?" she asks.

"Ugh, what?" Shaun asks, dismayed beyond belief. "What now?"

"Part of the reason why it took so much effort for me to blend with Rebecca is because I was trying to do it without causing damage," Desmond says. "So I had to work on shifting muscles and managing nervous connections and –"

"I would prefer not to get a detailed description, just tell me what you are on about," Shaun says, squeezing his eyes shut when Chewy brings up the picture.

Desmond clears Rebecca's throat. "We're going to modify Rebecca's body to add in a… semi-permanent nook for me."

"Kind of like secondary windpipe that leads straight up to Rebecca's spine," Chewy says, cheerfully, while Shaun shudders.

"What, _why_?" Shaun demands. "Oh my god, are you mental, are you completely – why would you even –"

"For quick re-entry and exit," Desmond says and shrugs. "Rebecca wants me back eventually, and I don't want to always have to tear through half of her throat to get to her. So we're going to make it easier. By adding in an artificial trachea-like organ."

Shaun can kind of feel a ghost of _stuff_ in his neck, even though nothing has even happened in that region, ever. His skin kind of crawls. "And at a guess, you're thinking of doing the same to me?" he demands, and grabs at his own throat, rubbing at his Adam's apple.

Desmond's eyes flick down to it and then quickly up again, he clears their throat. "Never, if you don't want me to," he says. "But, it would be… easier, for both of us. I really don't want to hurt you guys."

Damn him, somehow he even manages to make Rebecca's mangled voice sound earnest. Stupid puppy-dog of a man. "And how are you even going to make this… pseudo-windpipe?" Shaun asks, uncomfortable.

"That's the fun stuff. Programmed cellular mutation," Chewy says, grinning.

"It's kind of how Goa'uld modified some of their servants," Desmond says and grimaces. "There is this species, an offshoot of humans called Jaffa, and – uh, anyway. It's possible, and I can make it safe."

"Probably, right?" Shaun asks dubiously.

"No, I _can_ make it safe," Desmond says. "I wouldn't if I didn't know for sure. I wouldn't risk it."

Shaun eyes him, staring at him through Rebecca's eyes. The shape is wrong, but the look is the same. And, damn it all… despite everything, Shaun trusts the guy. Trusts Rebecca.

"Okay, fine," he says and shudders. "How?"

* * *

 

They've been on board the _Altaïr II_ for a week when the _blending_ finally happens, and it's both easier and _so much worse_ than Shaun expected it to be. The lead up to the thing makes it so much worse, too, all the preparation and rumours, and Shaun got a bout of sea sickness just because his life isn't weird enough apparently.

It ends in MRI's and X-rays and Rebecca growing a whole new internal organ with Desmond's and Chewy's help, and really, the less Shaun knows about the science of it, the better, honestly. And it might be just temporary, and with Desmond would come all the knowledge, but… he has a bit of blissful ignorance left, he enjoys it for as long as he can.

Then they finish, and his time is up. Shaun is laid down on a gurney like a damn sacrificial lamb while Desmond and Rebecca stand over him, with all the scanners aimed at them to record the whole thing, because _of course_. Desmond takes over Rebecca's face and voice and asks, one last time, "Are you sure about this?"

"Just come here _, you bastard_ ," Shaun says, his heart pounding in what he has to admit is pure blinding terror. Shit, this would have been so much easier if Desmond had just taken him, like he did with Rebecca – all this time has made the whole thing so much worse.

Desmond smiles a little painfully at him, and then takes his face between Rebecca's hands and _kisses_ him.

It's nice, for about a second – and then Desmond nudges at him to open his mouth, and then there's a strangest flavour and even weirder feeling in his mouth. Something is sliding in, and that is _not a tongue_ , his brain screams – and then there's piercing pain in the back of his throat and then it's too late.

Desmond burrows in, and Shaun has just a moment to gasp in pain and look up at Rebecca, as she pulls back with a shuddering inhale. "Okay?" Shaun mouths.

"Okay," Rebecca promises and strokes his cheek. "I'm okay. Everything's okay."

Shaun nods and promptly passes out.


	7. Chapter 7

_It's okay, I got you._

It takes longer with Shaun than it took with Rebecca, partially because Shaun puts up something of a fight even while unconscious, and partially because Desmond is trying to do multiple things at once – spin a cocoon of altered cells, as it were, knitting himself a nook in Shaun's body. It really should've been weirder than it was, the whole thing – but his view on what's _weird_ has kind of taken a hike, these days. And honestly, growing a new organ inside Shaun's body isn't that weird, compared to some of the truly fucked up shit Goa'uld came up with, early in their human occupancy.

There's differences between Shaun and Rebecca  which Desmond had sort of expected but also not. They're both blindingly brilliant people, but their minds work in vastly different ways. Rebecca is intuitive, go-by-your-gut kind of gal – she knows her stuff, her machines, her coding, but she never had formal education on it, so the way her mind works through the problems is all fluid, organic. It's almost spontaneous, how she knows how to do things, because the information is there, in her head, and it doesn't really matter how she comes up with conclusions or figures out things, so as long as she does and they work.

In comparison, Shaun's head is a library – with everything in its designated, alphabetised place, filed under the year he learned it, the place he learned it, and connected by thousands of threads to all the things related. Everything is carefully organised and carefully maintained – and always rechecked. Where Rebecca, when doing anything, just goes with it, Shaun, even when he _knows_ he knows something, still has to check the facts. It's made everything in his mind robust in an odd way – facts and bits of knowledge, reaffirmed.

It makes it easy to fit in, if nothing else. Not that integration with Rebecca was hard, far from it, with Rebecca Desmond just sort of blended in and it was good. Shaun, though – Shaun has a _designated place_ for him, a whole wing of his mind prepared and laid out. It's just missing a sign saying _this is where Desmond goes_. It's kind of incredible, especially since Shaun is still so apprehensive.

Though it might be partially _because_ Shaun is so apprehensive. It all has the taste of self-preservation. Like if his mind sections off a designated place for Desmond, then the rest of his mind would be persevered – all that carefully accumulated knowledge and expertise wouldn't be tampered with.

 _It's okay,_ Desmond thinks. _I'm not going to mess with your organisation. I'm just…_

It was okay just throwing their things together and seeing what kind of delightful mess they could make, with Rebecca.  That wouldn't do with Shaun. So, Desmond parks himself in the designated place – and then makes just the slightest modification, opening a door, a hallway. From the well-organised library of Shaun's head – a pathway into the chaotic mess that's Desmond's genetic memories, with all the monsters and whirlpools and typhoons therein.

_Desmond, mate – mind palaces. They're not just a fad. Jesus Christ, what a mess._

_Hi to you too, Shaun._

While Shaun sends him all the derision he can muster to try and hide how he's just mentally _gaping_ at the wealth of information, Desmond finishes the physical blending. The nook is almost finished – it would take about a day for the cellular structure to affirm itself, for the blood flow to standardise, but there'd be time for that. Desmond winds himself into Shaun nervous system then gets to work.

_What do you want me to start with?_

_How about organisation by date_? Shaun asks, still side eying Desmond's memories.

 _I meant your health, Shaun, what do you want to start with?_ Desmond asks. _I'm assuming you don't mind me fixing things up here._

 _Oh, right, that. The back, please, that will do for a start. And then, like, do what you did to Rebecca,_ Shaun says, distracted. And then, faintly, _Oh my preconceived historical notions, I hardly knew ye at all. Also what the_ hell _is that?_

Desmond lifts his mental head to look at what he's looking. _Oh, yeah – don't, don't go poking around that. Those are Sekhmet's emotions, I'm still working my way through them._

_That's a… really a lot of malice._

_Yeah, it's a Goa'uld thing. The stuff about racial megalomania and evilness, that wasn't just a rumour. Just leave it be until I can properly deal with it._

Shaun is quiet for a moment, sort of teetering on the edge – Desmond lets him work through his apprehension and unease in peace for a moment, while setting into progress the work to fix up Shaun's spine. It's nothing as bad as Rebecca's legs, but the years of not-enough-movement and also working by a computer have not helped with the guy's slight disposition to scoliosis. He also has a low-key carpal tunnel syndrome happening, it feels like.

 _Do you want me to fix the eyes?_ Desmond asks thoughtfully – because he can tell now, Shaun prefers how he looks with glasses.

 _Oh, let me think, an obvious weakness in case I lose my visual prosthesis just because I maybe look better with glasses…, or perfect, or more than, vision…_ Shaun scoffs. _Mate, I can get fake glasses if I want. Please and thank you._

 _Maybe one of those tinted glasses that almost look like sunglasses,_ Desmond suggests, amused, _Could help you with the eye strain with monitors._

 _You think that's a bit of douchey look,_ Shaun points out.

_Well, you're a bit of a douche, so it would suit you._

_Prick_. Shaun scoffs and Desmond grins mentally.

They're quiet for a moment, Shaun teetering on the edge of watching him and delving into the knowledge offered – a serious contender for his attention, it feels like, the guy is all but vibrating with eagerness to get his hands onto the memories. But he's also sort of hovering by Desmond, hesitating.

 _You know I can feel your emotions,_ Desmond comments. _Stop it_.

 _Yes, well,_ Shaun answers, tetchily. _Pardon me for wanting to express actual sincere apology here, would hate to deal with this as if we were adults or something_.

 _Part of the blending,_ Desmond points out. _I know what you think and want, you do the same. Do you really need to even say anything_?

 _Well, maybe I want to,_ Shaun says, irritated. _I don't think telepathy or whatever this is should completely supersede actual intentional communication – besides, people can think and feel any number of nonsensical things, it's what they_ say _and_ do _that matters, not the momentary twitches of brain chemicals. Not that you'd know the difference, all about the chemicals that you are._

Desmond tilts his head mentally to that. It had been fine with Rebecca, but – Rebecca feels and thinks more than she speaks and does, when it comes to emotions. Shaun is the complete opposite – thinking doesn't count unless you _say_ it. Must be because of how much the guy thinks and worries and frets –

 _Yes,_ alright _, thank you – will you let me say my piece now?_ Shaun demands.

 _Figures you'd be bossy,_ Desmond murmurs. _Go ahead._

It takes Shaun a moment. _I am sorry,_ he says then. _For – quite a number of things, in hindsight, but mainly for doubting you. I should've trusted you, I know you would've never hurt Rebecca, and I can see now you didn't, of course you didn't, but… but I kept doubting and questioning. I should have known better._

Desmond feels an enormous swell of fondness, which makes Shaun sort of flail at him in outrage. _Never change, Shaun. Seriously,_ he says. _I know why you felt that way, and I wouldn't have you feeling any other way. Honestly. I wouldn't. Never change_.

 _Ugh, did we not have the discussion about change? Becoming mentally and personally static is dead too, Desmond,_ Shaun bitches at him. _Personal growth is the goal here, not to become completely stuck in one's ways. One would think you of all people would know that._

 _You know what I mean, don't be a dick,_ Desmond says, amused. _I appreciate the apology, even if I don't think it's necessary. It's all good, Shaun. Really._

Shaun is quiet at that, radiating pleased satisfaction at him. Then, after a moment, he says, _So. Rebecca said something about abs_.

* * *

 

Rebecca is there, sitting with them when they come to. She's even holding their hand – something that makes Shaun squirm with happy emotion and then mentally backpedal, because no, of course not, he wasn't doing any such thing.

Desmond kind of snorts himself awake.

"Shaun, Desmond?" Rebecca asks quickly, leaning in.

"You two are like school kids with a crush, it's hilarious," Desmond tells her. "I swear, how can you two pine this much when you're already in a relationship?"

Shaun sputters at him in horror and Rebecca's eyes widen a little and then she flushes, and – oh, that's lovely, he's never seen her do that before. And oh, man, he's missed seeing her from the outside – not that seeing Shaun was _bad_ , Shaun was pleasing enough to look at, but so was Rebecca, and he'd just missed her.

"Um," Rebecca says, glancing at Chewy and then down again. She coughs, clearing her throat. "I take it Shaun's okay then?"

"Yeah, you wanna talk to him?" Desmond asks.

"I'm not in a hurry," Rebecca admits, to which Shaun lets out a mental, _Hey_ , which she obviously can't hear. Rebecca leans in a little, looking at their face. "You settle in there okay? Everything work out like we planned it to?"

"Yeah, we're good, I'm almost finished here - with the nook, I mean" Desmond says, smiling and gripping her hand tighter. Then, giving into an impulse Shaun never does, he reaches our their free hand to touch Rebecca's face, to brush back the spiky black strands. She's so pretty – not that he'd forgotten it, but… it's different, seeing it from the outside. "Still working out the kinks of Shaun's health though, that's going to take a few more hours."

Rebecca blinks at him a little and then smiles, nudging her cheek to their hand. "Gonna take a lot longer than that to work out the kinks from Shaun," she says mockingly. "I've been trying for years. But maybe you will have better luck, having access to his brain and all."

 _I am right here!_ Shaun says, outraged.

Desmond grins, leaning up to press a quick, casual kiss on Rebecca's lips. "He's getting loud, I'm gonna step back now. Love ya, Becs," he says.

"You too, dork," Rebecca says, still a little flushed.

Squeezing her hand gently, Desmond slips back, letting Shaun back in control. It's kind of amusing how the guy goes immediately stiff and awkward. "Um," he says, eyes widening. "Hi, Rebecca."

"Hi, Shaun," Rebecca says, and kisses him too, just a quick peck on the chin. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh, yeah… That voice thing is _weird_ ," Shaun says, and lifts a hand to rub at his throat. "It's like – like vibrating."

"Yeah, I know," Rebecca snorts. "You get used to it, though. I'm pretty sure Desmond can _not_ do it, but it makes it easier to keep track of who's talking."

"Hm. Not very covert, is it?" Shaun says and sits up, rubbing at his neck, trying to feel Desmond there. He doesn't – though Desmond can feel the touch. "Also, for the record, I am not pining," he says, pointing at Rebecca. "And especially not for you."

"Sure you aren't, Shaun," Rebecca says, grinning and obviously pleased.

 _You are a menace_ , Shaun thinks, trying so hard to sound severe and annoyed.

 _Love you too, Shaun,_ Desmond thinks and then hums. _You've had your appendix removed?_

 _Yeah – please don't re-grow it. The damn thing burst when I was sixteen, I would rather not repeat the experience, ever_ , Shaun answers with a mental shudder.

_I'll just fix up the scar tissue then._

Chewy steps closer to them, flash light and tongue depressor in hand. "Alright, let's have a look at the damage then," she says. "After that, scans, blood tests, the works."

"Joy," Shaun says, and obligingly opens his mouth for her to peer at their throat while Rebecca sits beside them, to keep them company through the tests.

* * *

 

Desmond had talked with Gavin Banks once while inside Rebecca – something he now realises Shaun didn't know at the time. The talk had been pretty simple and not particularly in-depth – the man had just asked why he should allow what Shaun and Rebecca were planning and what the Assassin Brotherhood would get out of it. Desmond had answered as honestly as he knew how, and the new Mentor had left it at that, at the time. Shaun and Rebecca got asked a lot more questions, of course – Desmond wasn't considered as trustworthy, apparently – but overall Gavin Banks had seemed semi-satisfied with his answers.

Desmond had been kept apart from the rest of the ship though, not being introduced to the crew or even really seeing them, staying in the infirmary with Chewy for the most part. Shaun, in hindsight, had also been kept apart, a little, with the cabin designated to him sitting near the infirmary and thus leaving him little reason to wander around. The design in it only dawns on him in hindsight.

 _Gavin comes across all casual and nice, but he's actually a sneaky son of a bitch,_ Shaun says, annoyed, _going about interrogating all of us separately so that we can't corroborate stories. It's smart, if annoying._

It's hard to say if the risk assessment had been concluded positively, but after Shaun and Rebecca are put through the whole battery of tests, including new psych evals, and Chewy spends some time questioning Desmond too, they're more or less released into the ship.

Via Gavin Banks' office, of course – or his cabin, rather.

"You know, I've never been on a ship before," Desmond comments. "Not outside memories."

"Actually you have," Rebecca says. "On this ship, even. It was back when you were coma, after the Temple in Rome."

"It wasn't for very long, granted, and you were unconscious," Gavin comments. "But in either case, let me officially welcome you back aboard the _Altaïr II_."

 _Yeah, like we haven't been here for a week already,_ Shaun thinks.

 _Be nice,_ Desmond says and smiles. "Thank you," he says. "I like the name."

"Everyone does," Gavin says, offering him a smile, and then motioning him to sit on one of the couches in his cabin. "I'm going to introduce you to the rest of the crew at dinner, let everyone know what has been going on, but before that I thought we should sit down and talk things through."

"Fine by me," Desmond says, and sits down beside Rebecca, tugging at the fabric of Shaun's khakis to prevent the knees from stretching. Shaun dresses so fancily, it's weirdly nostalgic. He hasn't worn khakis since Bad Weather.

 _Desmond Miles in a vest and tie and pressed up trousers and everything,_ Shaun muses, regretfully _. I don't suppose anyone took pictures of you wearing that, did they? Not that I don't think a hoodie is the height of Assassin fashion, perish the thought, but… it would have been something special, to see you dressed up to the nines._

Desmond doesn't really know what to say to that. He… isn't really sure what to think of it either. Shaun's missing the way his body looked.

 _I'm sorry,_ Shaun says quickly. _I didn't mean to -_

_It's fine. Never mind, Shaun._

Gavin clears his throat and Desmond looks up, blinking. "So," the Mentor says. "There's a lot to consider, and judging by the way Abstergo and NID came after you, maybe not as much time as we would like to do it, so… let's just cut to the chase. You have the memories of the Goa'uld."

Desmond nods. "Those in Sekhmet's lineage, yeah," he says. "She went into stasis thousands of years ago, though, so it's hard to say if things have changed since then. They probably have."

"But Goa'uld technology even back then was a lot more advanced than what we have now," Rebecca says. "They had spaceships, interstellar travel – thousands of off-world colonies."

"You remember?" Desmond asks, curiously.

"Not everything," she admits. "I think I remember things which I, uh… realised? Or things I thought about? I'm not sure. I guess I remember the things I became aware of while you were in me – but it's just the surface stuff. Don't ask me any details."

 _So, if I peruse your memories of history, the information I have spent time examining and thinking about will stick with me, even after you're gone,_ Shaun muses. _Hmm, I had better get on that, then_.

 _Later, Shaun,_ Desmond says and turns to Gavin. "I also have access to my human lineages," he says.

"Altaïr, Ezio and Connor Kenway, yes," Gavin agrees.

"No – all of them," Desmond says, shaking his head. "Goa'uld do their memory storage just genetically  – so, when my human genetic memory combined with Goa'uld genetic memory, it all became one and the same to me. So… I have access to all of it."

 _And boy am I glad human lives are short,_ Desmond muses.

 _Well, aren't you high and mighty at your lofty age of twenty five,_ Shaun answers.

 _Goa'ulds live for thousand of years, Shaun,_ Desmond comments. _And I remember a lot more years than that._

_… right._

"That has to be… dozens of generations," Gavin murmurs, watching him. "And you can – you can comprehend it all? It's all in your head, you've internalised it?"

Desmond hums, considering how to put it. "It's not the same as remembering, exactly," he says. "Goa'uld doesn't have to pay attention to it like a human does – the memories are part of my physiology, so I don't really need to _recall_ them. They're just… there."

"… I have to admit, I have no idea how that would even work," Gavin admits.

"Yeah, and I don't know how to explain it," Desmond admits with a snort. "Shaun's threatening to work his way through it, though, maybe he can explain it better," he says and bows his head.

Shaun takes over, clearing their throat. "That throat thing is going to bother me so much," he mutters, coughing. "Desmond's memories are a mess – it's just all there, in one big pile of data. All that information and no organisation whatsoever. Some useful stuff there, anyway, few… key points in history. Some handy technologies."

"Oh yeah, spaceships – very handy," Rebecca says with a laugh.

"If you're into that sort of thing, sure," Shaun says and turns to Gavin. "With the things Desmond knows you could speed up human technological evolution by a few centuries in a short time, given that you had the manufacturing and computing power to actually produce the things he knows how to build. What is actually useful, in more immediate sense, is his knowledge of ancient Goa'uld sites around the planet."

"Oh?" Gavin asks, frowning.

"Goa'ulds lived on Earth for thousands of years – including Sekhmet, who ruled a whole swathe of Egypt in her time," Shaun snorts. "And going by what we've learned since, the Goa'uld didn't pack up any better than the Isu did when they left. Now, Sekhmet wasn't around when Goa'uld were chased out – but she did know of Goa'uld cities, palaces, temples and such – could be that some of those places have useful stuff left."

"Or stuff to keep out of Abstergo's hands, at least," Rebecca comments. "Though Desmond's more technical knowledge isn't exactly useless either. I mean, _space ships_. Also they have these transporters, which can, among other things, move matter between planets and their moons? Could be useful, if we could replicate them."

"What?" Shaun says, and Desmond gives him a nudge to the right direction in the sea of information. "Oh, the ring transporters? Huh. You know, those things _demolecularise_ you."

"Yeah – cool, right?" Rebecca asks, grinning.

Gavin clears his throat. "It's fascinating, yes," he says. "But that's not the most immediate issue here. Neither are the ancient Goa'uld sites."

"Okay," Shaun says, taken aback. "Umm, what is then?"

"Abstergo is after you, and they have some powerful allies," Gavin says plainly. "We've been avoiding them, but judging by the chatter we've intercepted, they are moving all their assets into this pursuit. They want Desmond, and they're willing to put all in on getting him."

"They know about Desmond?" Rebecca asks sharply.

"They know we have a living, functioning, _capable_ Goa'uld," Gavin says and leans back. "Your little feat at the marina didn't go unnoticed, you realise. And at a guess, all the things you're thinking now, our enemies have been thinking along the same lines. And they are willing to go to _war_ to get them."

 _… they would,_ Shaun realises. _Just for a glimpse into what you could offer, they wouldn't leave a stone unturned. You're too damn valuable._

 _Aww, cheers, Shaun,_ Desmond thinks, though distractedly. _Does us being here put the ship in danger?_

 _Absolutely,_ Shaun thinks in dismay and lifts his head. "We need to go into hiding."

"Short term, that might work – long term we need a better plan," Gavin says. "The things you spoke of, technologies, ancient sites, that's for the future – and that's only possible if we can secure this," he motions at them, "in a way that insures that Abstergo and no one else can butt in."

"But – how are we supposed to do that?" Rebecca asks, frowning. "We've been running from Abstergo for the better part of a year – every hideout, every base… everything is eventually breached."

"Isn't that why you got the ship?" Shaun asks. "Movable target, harder to pin down."

"Sadly, though convenient in many ways… the _Altaïr_ isn't invisible," Gavin says wryly. "And at a guess, Abstergo is tracking us as we speak. It's only a matter of time before they catch us."

 _Invisible. Huh_.

"What?" Shaun asks out loud, and then silently, _What, what are you thinking?_

 _The_ Altaïr _isn't that big, is it?_ Desmond muses. _Not that much bigger than an Alkesh._

"Oh my god," Shaun says flatly. "Desmond knows how to turn things invisible."

Gavin's brows arch and Rebecca sits up straighter, while gently Desmond elbows his way into control. "There is technology for it, though remaking it with modern tools might be tricky," he says, thinking fast and turning to Rebecca. "But smaller Goa'uld ships have a – well, it's basically an invisibility cloak. Works on all forms of waves – photons, radio, everything, it all just slides over it like the cloaked thing isn't even there. Maybe, I mean, Isu technology uses crystals too, and –"

"And we do have some experience with hologram technology," Rebecca says, snapping her fingers in realisation. "Abstergo has been experimenting with it, and back when we were at the Grand Temple, me and Bill worked on it a lot – what with Juno popping in and out. Maybe we could – "

"- marry the two together, sort of," Desmond says, thinking. "It wouldn't be perfect, but it would definitely fool satellite surveillance for a start. And definitely visual surveillance."

"Sonar might be an issue – but only if they find us first," Rebecca says and turns to Gavin. "It could be worth a shot."

 _I am feeling very useful right now, just look at me contributing,_ Shaun mutters.

"Well," Gavin says, looking between them. "That's… certainly an idea," he says slowly. "Invisibility, huh?"

Desmond shrugs, sheepish. "Just a thought."

"Hm," Gavin agrees, amused. "Alright, put together a plan, a timetable, what you need, and we'll see if it has a merit. In the meanwhile, there's another thing I feel I have to bring up. I understand you're now fixing Shaun's various health issues."

"There's not _that_ much to fix," Desmond admits. "I'll be done before tomorrow, probably. He'll be in peak condition once I'm done."

The Mentor gives him a look and then shakes his head. "Not a big deal for you, huh?" he asks wryly.

"Um. Should I apologise for that?" Desmond asks, wary. The guy is planning something, he can see it.

 _He's probably thinking of the vets,_ Shaun comments.

 _The_ vets _? Assassin vets?_

 _Yes, we have our veterans too, Desmond. Not all Assassins die in the line of duty – not all of them live either, granted, but the number of us in early retirement due to this or that injury that compromised their ability to work or function… it's not inconsiderable,_ Shaun comments. _And you've turned Rebecca into a super athlete in less than a week, fixed her broken legs and everything. I'll probably be able to start flipping around like her tomorrow too, right?_

 _Something like that,_ Desmond agrees, even more warily.

_You see how that might be an attractive prospect for a guy with a failing Brotherhood in his hands._

… failing?

Desmond looks up at Gavin, who is eying him with his lips pressed together. The Mentor sighs and gives him a sort of _have to ask_ look. "Is there a limit to how many people you could… heal in similar ways?"

"It's… not exactly something I can do indefinitely, and it's not without risks. It does take a little out on me, every time," Desmond admits. "How many Assassins are there in retirement?" he asks. Gavin arches his brows and Desmond motions to his head. "Shaun's thinking that's what you're after here – me healing your vets. Is it?"

"… It crossed my mind," Gavin admits and blows out a breath. "There aren't enough to make a worldchanging difference," he admits. "But I think if there's any way to heal those guys, give them their capability and health back… it would make a life changing difference to _them_. And that alone is reason enough to ask – even if it won't make that big of an impact on the Brotherhood."

Desmond eyes him thoughtfully. _Is the Brotherhood really failing?_

 _Desmond, mate – your dad brought us back from the dead. We've been limping along like a zombie ever since, constantly on the brink of collapse. You know what we did to get you out of Abstergo?_ Shaun asks, and Desmond remembers – both from his and from Rebecca's side. _That was about 80 percent of all Assassins there are. Our numbers haven't gone above five hundred in a decade. One good hit… and we're out._

_Oh. I… I didn't know that._

_You see now why it was such a huge damn deal that we could train you to be a fully fledged Master Assassin inside the few weeks with the Animus?_ Shaun asks. _Pity it wasn't something we could replicate in other Animus subjects. It would've changed everything._ It was too risky in the end, though – too many bad side effects and not enough results. Desmond's genetic lineage was kind of unique in allowing him to utilise the Bleeding Effect at all.

Desmond looks down, frowning, thinking, while Rebecca puts a hand on their back, rubbing up and down in silent, steady comfort.

"Well," Gavin says. "No one will force you to do anything, of course – that's not what this brotherhood is about. But if you could think about it… that would be something."

"Yeah," Desmond says. "I'll think about it."

The Mentor nods and claps his hands on his knees, pushing himself to stand up. "Right," he says. "How about introductions to the crew now, as it seems like you might be with us for a while? There are many curious people here who have been eager to meet you."

Desmond already knows them, through Shaun and Rebecca. But he nods anyway. "I'd be happy to meet them," he says and stands up, Rebecca doing the same at his side. He looks at her and she shrugs, a little forlorn but supportive.

"I'm kinda missing knowing what's going on in your head already," Rebecca admits. "What are you thinking?"

"About how with even all this stuff in my head, I still don't seem to know much of anything," Desmond admits wryly and takes her hand in his. "It probably won't be for long – I'll likely need to join back in with you to work on the cloak," he says then. _But I think I'm going to need your help with this one._

 _Which one – what one? What are you thinking?_ Shaun asks in alarm.

_A worrying bit of Goa'uld biology, which I think might change everything._

He shows Shaun what he means and feels the guy go completely silent in astonishment. _Oh, holy shit. The consequences – oh my God._

 _Yeah. Something to think about,_ Desmond agrees and turns to Rebecca. "Any chance they might be serving hamburgers here?"

"You're in luck," Rebecca snorts and links her arm with their. "It's all trash food from here on out."

* * *

 

Gavin Banks isn't actually the captain of the _Altaïr II_ , it turns out – "Don't actually have the know-how for that," he admits. The captain is instead a woman named Susan Drayton, a canadian and, according to the knowledge Shaun is feeding him, another recruit in the Assassins Brotherhood.

 _She and Gavin got into a bit of a tussle over Altaïr – they were both aiming to steal it, see,_ Shaun says. _She's an activist, of sorts, fighting among many other things against Abstergo adding chemicals to people's drinking water._

"So you're the alien," the woman says, when Desmond is introduced to her. "Who's inside Hastings now. You were in Crane and now you're in Hastings. How does that work?"

"Um. I'm still a physical creature and can change hosts?" Desmond offers and shrugs Shaun's shoulders. "There's not really a nice way to put it, sorry."

"Call it a timeshare," Rebecca says. "And don't think about the biology."

 _If only I could stick with that too,_ Shaun muses. _Next up we have Eric Cooper, security and navigation. Another recruit, as it happens – though he's got one of the more interesting recruitment stories, if I'm honest. Hunted down and systematically assassinated a hate group in Edinburgh. So, don't piss him off. I did, and he hasn't forgiven me yet._

 _Nice, what did you do?_ Desmond asks, amused – Shaun doesn't sound or feel serious or worried, so it couldn't have been serious.

 _I was born in England and I complimented his hat. He's a Scott,_ Shaun says. _Also transgender, but the Scott part is really the more important one here – you would've had better luck meeting him in Rebecca, honestly._

Eric Cooper sizes him up with a look of a man looking for weapons and then hums. "Saw the footage from the marina," he says. "That you and not Crane, right?"

"Her body, but, yeah, it was me at the reins," Desmond agrees.

"That was some hell of a fighting, there. You able to do that in Hastings, then? With his limp wrists?"

 _You see?_ Shaun scoffs. _Moving right along, Emmanuel Barraza – weapons, armours, combat, yadda yadda. Born assassin, as it happens – one of our rare few legal assassin families actually. Served in the military, some truly terribly shit went down, and now he's something of a pacifist and works on equipment maintenance and training. I suggest you_ don't _ask him about it._

 _Should I ask you about it?_ Desmond asks, worriedly.

Shaun sighs. _There was a busload of kids with suicide vests and no choice. Barraza had a choice, and it wasn't a pretty one. Let's leave it at that, shall we?_

Yeah, probably better, Desmond decides and nods to Barraza. The guy considers him interestedly. "Think I saw a bit of hand to hand there, in that footage," he says thoughtfully. "Does that carry over now that you're in Hastings' body?"

"It's my mind that knows the hand to hand," Desmond agrees. "I just need to get the body into shape, and then I can do it."

"Okay, that's cheating," Barraza says, giving him a look. "You don't have to train at all?"

"Not really, no," Desmond apologetically.

" _Cheating_ ," the big guy says, but goodnaturedly. "Come around the gym some time, let's see how much you can make Hastings lift."

"Ohh, I wanna try that too," Rebecca says and strikes a pose. "Test out the guns Desmond gave me."

 _She is adorable, isn't she,_ Shaun thinks sappily.

_Gonna tell her you said that._

_Don't you dare._

Next up there is Emmett Leary, the resident hacker, who has a familiar stink of weed on him. _A former Abstergo employee, love how it works out like that way too often,_ Shaun says. _Worked on genetic memories before the usual shit went down, he became paranoid and made a run for it, and Gavin picked him up._

There is Nodar Ninidze, the steward of the ship. _A sumo wrestler, quit because of corruption in the sport. Had a bit of trouble with some Russian and Chechen rebels with his brother when Gavin came around, don't know the full details but he cooks a mean roast, so there's that_.

And finally Akaki Ninidze. _The said brother of the latter, obviously – works as an engineer. There was something there about fake Assassin Brotherhood and him fashioning himself as the Mentor of this false Assassin Brotherhood, which in hindsight is amusing, but Gavin's sort of wiped their records clean and they've been working here ever since._

"I'm charmed to meet you all," Desmond says. It's more assassins than he's seen in one place since the Farm – the whole rescue of his pod from Abstergo notwithstanding, since he wasn't aware of it.

"So, you're like a snake?" Leary says, considering him.

"Sorta like," Desmond agrees. "Alien snake. Formerly human. There was a sort of metamorphosis thing that happened."

"It was weird," Rebecca agrees. "And icky. And you're lucky to have missed it."

The guy, the oldest in the crew it looks like, squints at him thoughtful. "Sure," he says. "So, what happens now?"

"Now," Gavin says, shaking his head at his crew. "Now we eat."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Episode Tag for Stargate SG1 season 5 episode 11, Desperate Measures.](https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Desperate_Measures)  
> Also warning for kidnapping and non consensual drugging.

Sam wakes up feeling fuzzy in a frighteningly familiar and recognizable way – which is only made worse by the fact that her arms and legs are bound down by what she realises quickly are medical grade restraints. She's on a gurney, bound down by leather straps, and no amount of struggling gets her free.

Memories come back slowly. She was on her way to her car from the fitness club, thinking of grabbing a sandwich from a diner before heading back home – didn't feel like making dinner after the workout. She hadn't been paying attention – usually doesn't have to, on home soil, so when the van had driven up to her and stopped right behind her, she hadn't thought anything of it. Not before the side doors swung open and there were men in black clothes and ski masks, wrangling her in.

So, kidnapped. On _Earth_.

Sam tests the restraints for a moment, but it's no dice – the things are built solid, and so is the gurney, with its metal frame. The wheels are locked, she can't make it move by shifting her weight – it's no use. Everything's tightened to the skin, too, no way to wiggle hands or feet out, or to angle her hands so that she might reach the straps. Useless.

 _Shit_.

A door opens somewhere behind her where she can't see, and then the sound of steps – Sam cranes to see, planning on how to handle this, looking around for escape. The man approaching her is wearing lab coat – a doctor? Scientist, anyway. Thick glasses, balding, eager to meet her. Not a good sign, that.

"Good morning, Major," the man says, stepping up to the gurney. "How are you feeling?"

"What's going on? Where am I?" Sam asks, affecting her best drugged confusion, wriggling against the restraints. The drugs are wearing off fast, but her tolerance for them is bit on the abnormal side, so it's likely they don't know and don't expect her to be in full control of her faculties anytime soon – and the longer they think they have full control over her, the better. "What is this?"

"You're in a hospital," the man says. "You were in an accident. How are you feeling?"

The guy is no actor, and definitely not an accustomed kidnapper – every line comes awkwardly and with a sort of giddy incredulity. The sort of _I can't believe I'm doing this_ kind of giddiness. Great, a first time kidnapper whose former experience probably comes from the movies. That's just perfect.

"Why am I restrained?" Sam demands, still going for confusion as she continues to struggle against the restraints, looking around. Windows blocked by curtains. Door with a handlebar – support bars on the wall. Everything is slightly too wide – standard hospital size. Tile, white walls, intercom by the doors. It all looks just a little old, and the lights on the ceiling are only half functioning, some of the fluorescent rods burned. Definitely not in a tip-top condition. Empty hospital, private clinic? Definitely some sort of medical centre, this place is built for handling and moving of gurneys and wheelchairs.

"You had an adverse reaction to the medicine you were given," the doctor says, again with that giddiness. "You had to be restrained for your own protection. We need to run a few more tests to make sure it's passed. Now, what is the last thing you remember?"

They must've given her some sort of drug that should affect her memories, and the guy is here to make sure it worked as advertised. Still, he addressed her as _Major Carter_ so it's not supposed to be a total memory blocker. Some sort of temporary effect then, making her forget a period of time, but not everything.

"I – uh – I was going home, I was," Sam says, going for a little confused slur, and tugs at her hands feebly. "What happened?"

"You were in an accident," the doctor says and then makes pretence of checking her eyes. "I think a scan is in order."

He goes to get a syringe, already loaded full of something – an anaesthetic, probably. Shit.

* * *

 

Things go a bit blurry for a moment, but Sam catches glimpses of her surroundings. Halls – she's put through a MRI and a CAT scan. New machinery – really new, state of the art even – in an old hospital. More broken fluorescent lights, darkened hallways. Empty rooms. Everything echoes, but there's no sound of people. Around them the facility, whichever it is, is empty, unused, and has been for a while. Electricity is still on, though, and so is water, so it's not completely abandoned.

Bit by bit, Sam fights control back from the drugs she'd been given. The dose hadn't been big enough – it was sizable, for normal people, but Sam has high tolerance these days, thanks to SGC and all the crap that had gotten into her system over the years. Funny that it comes handy now – and on Earth. It's almost embarrassing.

The captors are trusting the drugs to do their work, she's been taken out of restraints for the scans – she's still free when the doctor stops, pushing her into a room and then there's someone else. Steps, swish of clothing – she can't see, but judging by the sound of the steps, it's a man.

"We got the first blood tests back," a new voice says – male. "You're going to want to see this. We found some unusual protein markers, as well as traces of unidentified heavy metal in her blood – I think it might be it."

"Unidentified," the first doctor says. "So, that would be the Naquadah in her bloodstream?"

"I think so, yes," the second man says. "But I think It's the protein marker. That's going to be the key. Didn't the files say…"

Sam's not yet fully in control, but whatever this is, it probably won't last long. The doctors are distracted by a file – sound of paper being leafed through, a pad – and it's probably the best she's going to get. Carefully she looks around for anything usable – there, a tray of tools, laid out in wait. How very mad scientist of them.

"Well, now we know it's there – the issue will be isolating it and figuring out if it's enough…"

Sam _tries_ to get up, and to do it so carefully that they won't notice – but she ends up falling instead. Shit. That cuts her time down to seconds, she can't waste a single flailing movement. The stumble she makes is only half-designed – her sense of balance is shot to hell – but there's the tray, all he needs is to get at it, knock it over –

 _Ow_.

What she'd planned was to knock the thing over and then stumble to the floor beside it. She collapses half on top of the tray instead, and they both go down, and the damn thing falls on her – she's going to have one hell of a bruise on her hip for weeks to come from where the side of the thing digs in.

Well, at least the tools are on the floor.

"She's strong," the first doctor comments. "I gave her enough chloral hydrate to put down a man twice her size."

Ha, Sam thinks, while carefully in the shadow of her body putting her hand onto a scalpel on the floor. They definitely didn't have her medical file, then, that's comforting. This can't be NID – no way they would bungle this up this bad, if it was.

"Alright, Major," the doctor says, as the pair walk over to her. "Up you get."

* * *

 

Another dose of chloral hydrate takes time away from her, hours vanishing in smoke, maybe days. Sam wakes up hungry, thirsty and in terrible need to use the bathroom, and with a headache that is steadily getting worse. However, she also wakes up still lying on the scalpel she'd just barely managed to hide under herself before they'd dosed her again.

Thank god for incompetent kidnappers.

"Hello again, Major Carter," the first Doctor says, standing over her. "We've finished our tests, thank you for your compliance. I don't know if I mentioned what a thrill this is for me. I wish we didn't have to do it under these conditions, but given the circumstances…"

Christ, the whole thing is going to the guy's head, isn't it? He really thinks he's playing a part in a movie, doesn't he?

"You're a very unique individual. You may hold the key to the future of medicine," the guy says. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you a few questions," the man says, leafing through a file on a pad.

"You're making a mistake," Sam says. "I'm just an Air Force Major, I work at deep space telemetry. I don't know anything about medicine."

"We know what happened to you," the doctor says. "We know that you were the host to an alien symbiote."

Yeah, she figured as much. Whenever the talk of special protein markers came up, it was always about Jolinar. "I'm a physicist," she says. "I work at an office. What the hell is a symbiote?"

"Please, Major, don't waste my time with that ridiculous cover story – I know everything already," the doctor says. "Now tell me about the symbiote."

 _Well, obviously you don't know everything, since you don't know about the symbiote,_ Sam thinks and closes her eyes. "Well, symbiote, it's like… a creature that lives in biological symbiosis with another creature. Like clownfish and sea anemones."

The doctor sighs, almost theatrical. Seriously, did someone _tell_ this guy that he needed to act like a Bond villain? It almost feels like it. He's definitely not on the level of… any of the villains Sam knows though – the guy doesn't even notice her sawing her cuff with the scalpel. She's grateful for it, might mean she will be able to escape, but incompetent criminals are usually the most dangerous ones. They're the ones that are more likely to start shooting people in panic.

"We know about the Goa'uld, Major," the doctor says. "Alien parasites, which can give their host a wealth of medicinal benefits – increased lifespan, perfect health, increased physical strength… and we know you had one of these symbiotes within you. How did it leave you?"

Sam's eyelid twitches. So they have a part of the story, but not the whole thing. Sounds almost like  Kinsey's propaganda – concentrate onto the first part of a sentence and ignore the latter one. Major Carter was once the host to an alien symbiote, full stop. How did she get rid of it? Who knows. Christ.

Though these people's interest in the medicinal aspect is telling. Hospital, empty but with amenities on, completely incompetent kidnapper of a doctor, some facts but not all of them… no questions about alien technology or advanced weaponry, just mentions of medicine and health benefits. Some sort of medical company, then?

"What was it like, having the symbiote within you?" the doctor asks eagerly. "What did it feel like – did you have any control at all?"

"I work with deep space telemetry," Sam says tightly. "I haven't even had a tapeworm, never mind whatever this… symbiote thing is."

The doctor lets out another exasperated sigh. "It would really be better for us all if you just –"

He stops, as in the distance there's the resounding crash of something breaking in a wake of concussive force. Sam twitches and then stays very still, listening – steps, running, steady, no voices. Military? Did SG1 find her already, is she about to be rescued?

"What now?" the doctor murmurs and walks away, to the door.

There's a sound of door banging open, and a little _thwip_ of a dart gun being fired – a moment later, the doctor falls back into Sam's field of vision, with an anaesthetic dart stuck in his meaty throat. Sam goes still as the room is suddenly overtaken by heavily armed men in tactical vests, carrying a lot of weaponry.

A man steps towards her – blond with a short, untidy beard, no visible insignia, but obviously a leader, he's being given deference. The man glances over her while Sam stays very still, and then he goes to pick up the file from the floor, glancing over it.

"You two, grab her," the man says. "And secure the doctor. The rest of you, with me."

Without further ado, a bag is shoved over Sam's head.

* * *

 

The second group of kidnappers – because it doesn't take much to figure out that there's now a second kidnapping going on – is much more competent than the first. Worryingly competent. And she's not the only one being kidnapped – the doctors she'd seen have been grabbed too, and they're even worse kidnap victims than they were kidnappers – she's fairly sure the one that had tried for the Bond-villain-esque deal might have urinated on himself. There are others too.

There's also a man in a wheelchair, with an IV hanging off it, coughing constantly into a wad of cloth. With him there's a woman, well put together with a very efficient, secretarial air about her – complaining constantly. "You can't treat Mr. Conrad like this!" she's saying as they are _all_ hauled into a back of a truck, shackled down with more than just leather binds. "Don't you know who he is?"

"I don't care," the blond guy in lead says, heavily accented with something – West European? Nordic, maybe? Sam's not very good with accents, but it doesn't sound slavic, nor middle eastern.

And then she sees the rest of what they're hauling in, and the accent stops mattering as much.

The unknown spec ops guys are hauling in a plastic tub, it's lid tightly sealed with ziploc ties and half full of brackish looking water – inside it, there's a living, frantically moving Goa'uld symbiote.

"Good," the maybe-nordic leader says, while the tub is shoved into a container full of packing foam for transport. "Check their bindings, and then let's move."

The spec ops guys say nothing – they just do the work as ordered, checking everyone's cuffs and chains – they've not only bound their hands and feet, but also attached the bindings to the metal loops on the floor, just in case. These guys are definitely no amateurs – they even go as far as to disable Mr. Conrad's wheelchair. And once it's done, two of the guys stay in the truck's back, situating themselves so that they have a clean line of shot on all of them in any given time.

Then the truck's back is closed, and soon after that they're in transit, the truck swaying from side to side as they turn. Big vehicle, then – looks like they plan on a long trip.

Sam squeezes her fingers tightly around the scalpel she still, by some miracle, has. "What the hell is going on here?" she asks, testing.

The spec ops guys say nothing – but they all have body a camera each, headsets, microphones, so everything is probably being recorded.

"Who are you people, what is this?" she tries. "I am a Major in United States Air Force, I demand to know what is going on!"

Again nothing from the spec ops guys. It's the wheelchair guy who speaks. "I am – sorry, Major," he wheezes. "I didn't think – something like this – would happen."

"Mr. Conrad, you don't have to explain," the secretary woman says and turns to glare at Sam. "This must be the doing of her people, which just goes to show how _unethical_ their whole operation is."

Sam arches her brows. Seriously?

"No, Diana, this is not – the military," Mr. Conrad says, casting a look at the spec ops guys. "It must be – NID. Or worse."

Oh great, something worse than NID? That's just great. "Is anyone going to explain what the hell is this?" Sam asks, tugging at her cuffs and checking them. They're put on tightly, but they're not high-tech, thank god – they look standard, which means they can be picked. The scalpel wouldn't be of any use at that, but maybe…

"As I said – I am sorry, major," Conrad says. "This all happened - because of me. My name is Adrian Conrad – I have a disease. My immune system is – destroyed – and this pneumonia will likely – kill me before the week – is over."

Sam lifts her head, frowning. The man coughs, his whole body shaking – there's blood on his lips. The secretary woman and the two doctors all strain towards him, but they're bound in place, same as Sam.

"The Goa'uld – I acquired it in order – to heal," the man gasps. "A symbiote – would repair my immune – system and the damage done – by various diseases. But –"

Sam leans back a little. Adrian Conrad – it's not a very familiar name, but she remembers it from some chart or another. Millionaire, businessman – owner of Zeditron industries, a tech company, not the biggest, but still notable. Something about shipyards and sportswear? She thinks she remembers some athlete wearing Zeditron brand. So, they're not even a medical company?

"But the issue of the symbiote taking over the host – had to be considered," Conrad says, eying her blearily. "You had one within you, once – but now you do not. We hoped to learn from you – how to remove it from me, once its job was done."

Sam eyes him and then says, "Tch." She might've had sympathy for the guy, if he'd gone about this some other way, but the sheer incompetence involved pisses her off a little. Partially she's angry at herself, for falling for this kind of nonsense, letting these bumbling idiots grab her so easily. "And these guys?" she asks, nodding to the spec ops guys.

It's the secretary woman who answers. "We paid a former NID operative to procure the symbiote for us," she says, sniffing. "He came sniffing for more just a little while ago – I assume he leaked the news to his former employers."

One of the spec op guys snorts at that – so that means she's not quite correct. Sam isn't sure which is worse – that they might be in custody of NID, rogue element or not – or that this might be someone completely unknown to them, taking the opportunity of someone completely incompetent doing the hard work and then reaping the easy rewards. Someone who knows enough about Goa'uld to keep one in a plastic tub – that's a scary sort of efficiency.

Sam leans back in her chair and looks around. Aside from them, their guards, and the package with the Goa'uld inside it, there's nothing usable here. Except, maybe, at most, the pins in Diana's hair. But how to get them without their guard noticing it?

Sam sizes the secretary woman up. The woman is glaring at everything, but she's not making noise anymore, and she's also looking around for anything to use. So, dumb or not, there might be something there to use.

Sam angles herself towards the woman, so that the spec ops guys are at her back. Then she turns her wrists, as carefully as she can, and points at the lock of her cuffs. "So, how did you find out about this stuff anyway?" she asks, while giving the woman an arched, pointed look.

Diana glances down – she's not even subtle about it. "We know about everything, it doesn't matter how," she says, squinting a little.

Sam glares at her. "We are being _kidnapped_ – second time today for me," she points out, trying convey to her with a look to not be an _idiot_. "I think it matters."

Conrad gets it before the woman does. "There was a – a coalition of businessmen, once," he says, exhausted. "Who were offered – the opportunity to utilise alien technology – and integrate it into the greater society. Zeditron was one of the companies – that was approached."

"You were definitely not approached by SGC," Sam says, frowning.

"No – it was NID."

Between him and herself, Sam manages to start a chatter that's interesting enough to keep their guards occupied, and make them miss the silent communication between her and Diana. It takes some glaring and pointed looks before Diana gets it – Sam pointing at her cuffs, then looking at her hair, then back again, with a lot of eyeballing in between. All the while it happens, the truck keeps on moving, speeding up as it goes – they must be on a highway now, or at least on a longer stretch of road.

The guards are settling in for the long haul too, which is both promising and – not really.

There is no way for Diana to get the pins from her hair without looking suspicious about it – she would have to bow down for her chained hands to reach. Conrad settles the issue for them, though – by having a massive, noisy, and probably extremely painful attack, coughing and convulsing in his chair so badly that the guards have to eventually move to help him, the doctors telling them, "He needs his inhaler," and, "Water, get him some water!"

And while the guards, grumbling, get Conrad what he needs, Diana bows her head, rips the pins from her hair, and then slides them along to Sam.

Well, they might be incompetent kidnappers, but at least they make a decent team, Sam thinks, sliding the pins into her palms and quietly starting to work on the cuffs. Conrad is still convulsing, it gives her some time to work on her cuffs, but then… then the fit doesn't stop. It evolves into a full-on convulsion – and then, a seizure.

Shit.

The doctors and Diana start really panicking, one of the Spec Ops guys is talking into a radio, the other is trying to hold Conrad down and probably doing a whole lot more damage in the process. The doctors are shouting, "Please, let us loose, we can help him – please, you're just hurting him – " and Sam can just _feel_ her time slipping from her.

Quickly, she unlocks the last of her cuffs, grabs the scalpel and gets up. The guards are distracted – and the truck is slowing down.

She doesn't think she can take these guys hostage, doesn't think she can force them to say what she would need to on the radio. There's no other way.

She gets behind the nearest, grabs the man from behind, and slits his throat with the scalpel. The guy croaks, falters, and as he falls Sam grabs his silenced sidearm and aims. The retort of the fire is still deafeningly _loud_ as she fires the gun into the second guard, but there's nothing to be done about that.

"Holy shit," Diana breathes.

The truck pulls to a screeching halt.

Sam looks around. No way out, just the back end of the container. No place to hide. Shit, this wasn't the best plan. But they were taken alive, and unharmed for the most part – which means whoever has them wants them alive. And… and likely, none of them is as valuable as the Goa'uld.

Sam makes a judgement decision, and then ignores still convulsing Conrad and goes for the crate instead, ripping into it and pulling the plastic tub out. The scalpel does quick work on the zip ties, and the Goa'uld gets only a moment to screech in alarm before Sam grabs it from the solution it's milling in, and grips it around the base of the neck.

The truck stops, the back is opened, and Sam stands with a Goa'uld in hand, and scalpel held poised to cut it open. "Stay back, or I kill it.

The blond guy pauses, holding a rifle at her. "Ah," he says then, and smiles wryly. "You think I care."

"I think this is the most valuable thing in here," Sam says, shivering – she can tell his aim is true, if he pulled the trigger the bullet would go right through her heart. Definitely a professional. "And I think it's more valuable to you alive than dead."

The guy tilts his head a little and then hums. "You are not wrong," he agrees and then lifts the gun, aiming it at the sky instead. Outside, there's a open stretch of the road, forests on each side – hard to say where they are, but in either case… it doesn't look like there would be too many passers by here.

"Major Samantha Carter, was it?" the man says. "I am Juhani Otso Berg."

"An honour, I'm sure" Sam says. Finnish, maybe? Huh. That's… a little unexpected. "Who do you work for?"

The man smiles, wry. "What do you want?" he asks.

The symbiote screeches in her hand, flailing, and Sam thinks fast. No way they would they let her go. "A phone call," she says.

"No," Otso Berg says, not even thinking about it. "Try something more realistic. The truck is surrounded, you cannot shoot your way out, you cannot fight us all. We will kill you."

Damn it. She wouldn't be able to fake out this one, he'd catch her, and her only leverage is the symbiote, which, if she damages it, would be a short-lived leverage indeed.

"Please," Diana says behind her. "Adrian needs it – look at him, he's dying, he needs the symbiote now!"

Sam glances behind her and Otso Berg scoffs. "No," he says. "You give it to him and your leverage is spent."

Sam grimaces. "Keys to the cuffs," she says. "Now."

Otso Berg considers her and then nods to someone out of view. A set of cuff keys is thrown into the truck, and with her foot Sam slides them over to Diana, who immediately begins struggling out of her cuffs before going to release the doctors. They start trying to help Conrad, but judging by the looks of it, there's not all that much they can do for the guy.

The symbiote might very well be the only thing that will save the guy's life.

And Otso Berg would probably shoot her if she let it happen.

"Give me time to think," Sam says. "Two hours."

Otso Berg considers her and she lifts the symbiote meaningfully. The man's lips tighten. "No," he says firmly. "You hurt the symbiote and we will kill you. You have no choice. Put it back in the box and surrender."

"I think I will rather kill it than let you do whatever you're planning with it," Sam says.

"At which point, we will kill you," Otso Berg points out. "It would be a waste. Put the snake back in the box, now. Then we will talk."

 _Shit_. Sam thinks fast and then makes a decision. She moves to put the Goa'uld down, intending to drop it, reach for the gun and put Otso Berg on gunpoint – that would give her twice the leverage – but it doesn't turn out like that.

Behind her the doctors shout something about Conrad going into cardiac arrest – and then Diana panics. She knocks into Sam's legs in her hurry to get at the symbiote, and somehow catches it midair while Sam stumbles to the floor. Sam manages just barely to grab her the gun and aim it at Otso Berg – who is now aiming a gun at her. Behind her, there's a chaos of activity as Diana scrambles to Conrad and shoves the symbiote in his face.

"Stop!" Otso Berg shouts, but it's too late – the symbiote is already done burrowing into Conrad's sweaty neck.

Sam holds a gun on Otso Berg, half on her knees and with a set of new bruises. "Damn it, Diana," she growls.

"I am not going to let Adrian die!" Diana shouts and stands up. "Now the symbiote is inside Mr. Conrad – you can't kill us now. You have to let us go."

"Do I?" Otso Berg asks amusedly and then touches the side of his head – no, the headset he's wearing. "Yes? Where? ETA?" he waits and then shouts, "Take cover! Combat positions!" and before Sam can do anything, he slams the back of the truck shut.

Sam stares at the shut doors for a moment and then hurriedly goes to check on them. Locked. "What the hell is it now?" she mutters – and then she starts hearing shouting, gunfire, and explosions from the outside.

"Adrian? Mr. Conrad?" Diana is asking, while the doctors are working on the dying man, now Goa'uld-equipped. Sam tests the door a little more, but it refuses to budge, so he turns to them, gun in one hand, and scalpel in other.

The Goa'uld is coming to slowly. There's a Goa'uld inside, with three useless civilians, two dead spec ops men, and outside there's what sounds like a gunfight going on. What a damn clusterfuck.

Sam moves in to work out the immediate issue – the spec ops guys and their gear. Both are equipped with a lot of weaponry – guns, knives, flash bangs, smoke grenades, they even have C-4 on them. Very comforting. After a moment of consideration, Sam strips the less bloody one of his tactical vest. It's big on her, but it's easier to carry than trying to juggle all the weaponry by itself.

"What are you doing?" Diana demands.

"Not dying here," Sam answers and grabs the guy's radio, checking it over. Limited channel only, useless – but then… then there is a mobile phone.

Sam wastes no time in dialling. "This is Major Samantha Carter," she says, before Walter even finishes answering, "I have been kidnapped by unknown but professional combatants with access to top secret information – the leader calls himself Juhani Otso Berg, but did not say who he works for. I don't know where I am, currently – I am in the back of a truck, in a sealed trailer. There is a firefight going on outside the trailer between Otso Berg's people and an unknown third party – it doesn't sound military. Track this signal."

"Major?" Walter says, alarmed. "Yes, right away – I'll connect you to General Hammond."

"Yes please," Sam says and presses her back against the metal wall, keeping her gun on Conrad, just in case. The guy looks to be out of it for now, but she's not taking any chances.

Then Hammond is in her ear. "Major Carter? What's your status?"

Sam repeats what she just said, finishing with. "I was kidnapped by another party first – at the orders of Adrian Conrad of Zeditron industries. Sir, he's got parasites." Not the most eloquent way to put it, but damn it, no one had ever figured out a proper code word for someone being implanted with a Goa'uld.

"We're tracking your signal, Major, and will send a team over there as soon as we can," General Hammond says. "Colonel O'Neill, Doctor Jackson and Teal'c are on their way to Seattle, which is where we think you were being kept."

Sam lifts her head and looks at Diana. "Where are we?" she asks, and when the woman doesn't pay attention, she shouts, "Hey! Where was it where you kept me – was it Seattle?"

"What – yes, Saint Christina's hospital in Seattle," Diana answers.

Sam turns to the phone. "Seattle is right, but we've been in transit to unknown location for the past hour or so, I don't know where we are currently."

"Major – "

There's an explosion outside, which sounds like it's from coming right next to the truck. Moments later the doors are wrenched open _again_ , to let a thick cloud of smoke into the trailer, just before the truck jostles as someone jumps in.

"Hello – don't shoot," a Slavic-accented female voice says as a woman in a white hood steps out of the smoke, her hands held up. "I am here to help, I am not armed – I will not hurt you."

Sam makes a quick calculation, and decides that a woman with her hands held up is a better bet than Otso Berg and his rifle. "Who are you?" she asks, lowering her gun.

"I am an Assassin," the woman grins, looks down to the dead men on the floor, and nods approvingly. "Come quickly – we are escaping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samantha Carter and the day of 3 kidnappings.
> 
> So yeah, Stargate side of things is time lifted by 10 years this time - currently in 5th season, in this story.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing Galina Voronina's backstory a bit because.... because.

"Desmond is a dumbass."

"Hear, hear."

Rebecca pours the hot water while Shaun works on scowling at the tea bags – apparently, _Altaïr II_ 's tea selection is old and poorly maintained, because the few people who drink tea there are used to the restraints of having to get their tea in bulk and thus settling to the lowest denominators. Which means Lipton Yellow Label all the way. It's kind of amusing how resentful Shaun is about it – as if he's ever been any sort of tea aficionado.

They sit down and for a moment just… sit there. Rebecca twiddles with the sugar bowl, her coffee still too hot, and Shaun seeps the tea, tugging idly at the bag, while around them the _Altaïr_ 's mess hall echoes weirdly empty. Everyone else is fast at work in their various stations around the ship, dinner wouldn't be for another couple of hours, and so even Nodar isn't there, helping out his brother in the engine room instead. It leaves the mess in a strange sort of equilibrium of emptiness.

And Desmond isn't there.

Because he decided, somewhere along the way, that Shaun and Rebecca needed _alone time_  and so a tank had been made for him, and so _he's not there._ He's back in the infirmary, with Chewy, working his way through the shiny new interface of a waterproof tablet, figuring out the best way for a symbiote to use tech sans a human body and hands to do it with.

Rebecca has to physically restrain herself from adding more sugar to her coffee – it's overly sweetened already as it is. Across from her, Shaun shifts where he sits, every move loud with his discomfort, and they don't look at each other.

You'd think your communication would get better, after a few weeks of sharing a brain-reading symbiote between you, but no. And Rebecca can sort of tell why Desmond decided to take a momentary break – they're sort of starting to lean towards using him as a emotional crutch, but…

Shaun clears his throat, sips his tea and then says, sarcastic, "So how about that weather?"

Rebecca snorts and clasps her hands around the coffee mug. They're in the Bering Sea now, hiding amongst the local fishing vessels and glaciers, and the weather is terrible. "I miss having proper internet connection," she admits. "And also being able to walk on deck without freezing my butt off."

"You could just do as everyone else does and wear the furs. They're actually pretty comfortable."

" _Never_."

And that's a topic of discussion expended. Great.

There's no point talking about the work, because… well, there just isn't point. Shifting Desmond between them keeps them up to date on a level that's kind of mindblowing at times, and it leaves little to discuss. They already know everything, know each others feelings about it, know each others opinions, and all the input they can put into the thing has been… inputted. Which probably just enhances the awkwardness of it all.

Rebecca stretches out her legs and sighs. Her legs might not hurt anymore and all the muscle pains are long gone, but old habits are hard to break. She's noticed the same in Shaun too, how he goes to rub at his neck every now and then out of habit before making faces at himself. Neither of them gets neck aches anymore, or eye strain, or… any other minor annoyance that would give them something to _interact_ about. Weird, how much it takes out of the conversation when Shaun runs out of things to complain about himself.

The silence stretches, and Rebecca looks up at Shaun, leaning over his tea cup, increasingly tense and uncomfortable. He looks good. Not that he's ever looked _bad,_ but… Desmond's effect is kind of hard to miss. The healthy hue of his skin, the lack of shadows under his eyes, the slight _tightening_ of his skin. Desmond was good on his word and he'd slimmed them down. It wasn't just the abs, either – Desmond had worked on getting rid of excess fat deposits all over, until the slight softness under Shaun's chin and the give under Rebecca's arms just disappeared. She hasn't been this fit since she was nineteen – Shaun has probably never been like this.

Rebecca kind of wants to strip Shaun down and just grope him – all the time.

Shaun glances up, sees her watching, and by now he's gotten good enough at reading her – through Desmond's understanding of her, no doubt – to blush at the look she's giving him. Coughing, he shifts where he sits and rubs at his neck. "This is ridiculous," he says after a moment.

"Yeah," Rebecca agrees and leans back, clearing her throat and picking up her coffee cup. "But here we are."

"Yeah."

They've never actually _had_ the relationship talk. Rebecca isn't sure when they even actually ended up in a relationship – nothing about this is official. It was just that – Shaun made sort of suggestions at her, and she didn't exactly not appreciate it, and then there was Desmond, and he was _glorious,_ and with them there it was impossible not to just… fall in.

Desmond probably assumed they were already together, back then – but they hadn't been. It had been just mutual snide and bickering. With Desmond it had been just easy to pretend that yeah, this is how this works, this is how it's always worked. It just – it removed the need for actually acknowledging the thing between them, and they could just take Desmond's habit of rolling with things and… keep on rolling with things, even after him.

That might be why Desmond decided to give them time – with him there, they would just keep on doing that. Except they're not doing that. They're somehow doing worse. Because now they assume more and quicker, and then… deal less.

Shaun blows out a breath and looks away, stretching out his leg. It comes into contact with Rebecca's, their ankles pressed together. Shaun hesitates visibly – and then leaves it there. "We could just have sex and be done with it."

Rebecca hums. "I do miss that," she admits. "Sex."

"Yeah."

"Not sure if that would be enough, though," Rebecca says.

Shaun makes a face. "I don't know. Desmond would be all for it, that's for damn sure. Have you noticed? He's turned into a randy bastard. He's low-key horny all the time."

"Not sure that's all that different from the way he was before," Rebecca says, smiling a little. "He just likes nice things."

"And we're nice things."

"Extremely nice. Haven't you met us?"

Shaun looks at her and then snorts and she grins back, sipping her coffee. Shaun lets out a huff and then folds his arms over the plastic table, watching her. Rebecca looks back and then lowers the coffee cup, because – yeah, they're doing this now. Okay.

She holds out her hand, and Shaun winds his fingers with hers. He opens his mouth, and Rebecca sort of holds her breath and – then, he looks down and clears his throat, awkward, and doesn't say anything, just looks a bit embarrassed. Christ.

Some adults they are.

"Hey," Rebecca says, squeezing his hand. "Shaun – you know I…" shit. That's about as far as she gets.

"I know," Shaun says, but he doesn't sound like he does – it comes out too quickly, and she knows that tone of voice. It's his defensive _well, of course I know  but I don't really believe it because I am a naturally pessimistic individual and nothing good ever happens, ever._ "And you know that I, too… that. Yes."

"No, actually I have no idea," Rebecca says, tugging at his fingers. "Please elaborate."

"Rebecca."

" _Shaun_."

Shaun lets out a frustrated breath, shifting and looking down at their hands. His thumb strokes over her knuckles, warm and strong. His hands are bigger than hers, long-fingered, stronger. "Bloody hell, Becs," he mutters and lifts her hand a little. "Desmond makes this so much easier."

"Agreed," Rebecca answers, also looking down at their hands. "He might have a point in making us _talk_."

"Ugh."

Rebecca smiles a little and then says, "It would be nice to have sex one day, though, and pretend we're reasonable adults in something like a healthy relationship," she says. "So can we just… get this over with?"

"Great, good idea – you first."

"Shaun."

" _Rebecca_."

She blows out a breath. "You're better at this stuff than I am," she admits.

"I'm really not, though, obviously," Shaun answers and looks at her face. Then, sighing a little, he reaches over to touch her face. And, oh, that – that kind of makes it easier. Rebecca leans into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hand as he brushes his fingers over her cheek and into her hair.

"I guess," Shaun says, sort of resigned, "I guess this is… a _thing_ , now."

"I think it's been a thing a while now," Rebecca says, relieved.

"Hm," he agrees, brushing strands of her hair behind her ear. Then he makes a face. "It's weird without Desmond here."

"Yeah," Rebecca agrees with a huff and then reaches over the table to kiss him. That's a little different without Desmond there, too. She's used to either having him in the back of her head, or knowing that he's there, in Shaun, and that she's kissing them both. It's nice – but lacking, somehow.

Still, Shaun kisses her back, cupping the side of her head almost tenderly – and what they can't seem to _speak about_ like actual damn adults, it gets conveyed there. Still should probably put it into proper words, but this is nice too.

"Should we get rings?" Shaun asks, his lips brushing against hers.

"Tattoos," she says.

"You're _kidding_."

"I'm actually not," Rebecca says and pulls back a little, gripping his hand tighter. "I've actually been thinking about it – about… you know, that video, of Desmond – well, I know you know it, you have it on your phone. On the skyscraper?"

Shaun makes a face as he figures what she's getting at. "Um," he says. "Yeah, but – wouldn't that be a bit… I don't know, morbid, for Desmond?"

Rebecca looks down. "I don't know – I mean, I had the thought when he was with me, and he didn't seem to mind. I don't think he took me seriously, it was just idle daydreaming at the time while he was working on the cloak schematics, but…"

There was a shot of Desmond on that video, on the skyscraper – sitting crouched on the crane with the skyline of New York glowing behind him, with him a white hooded shadow over it. And it matters – Desmond, back when he was a human, it matters. It should be honoured somehow – it shouldn't be forgotten, just because the way he is now is more… advanced, or convenient, or whatever he is.

"So what, we jump from not being able to acknowledge this to matching couple tattoos?" Shaun asks derisively. "Bit of a leap, don't you think?"

"It's just a thought, asshole."

"Do you know how dangerous tattoos are?"

Rebecca gives him a look. "More dangerous than being an Assassin? Besides, I bet Desmond can fix it. We could get something done, and he'd have it perfectly healed in just an hour or something."

"Yeah, probably," Shaun agrees and makes a face. "Huh."

"What?"

"Just never thought I'd be the kind of guy to get a tattoo, is all," Shaun says and looks at her. "You're serious about this?"

Rebecca shrugs. "Yeah. I just – I want something to remember that time by, you know? It mattered."

Shaun considers her for a moment and then leans over the table to kiss her. "Then, bloody hell. Let's do it."

Rebecca hums against his lips, leaning in. They didn't actually talk properly, but – she can feel it. Something's _settled_. Fuck, they're basically married already, everyone knows that, Desmond knows that, but now it's – more. Official? Acknowledged?

Whatever.

Rebecca puts her hand to Shaun's chin, scratching at the slight stubble, and turns his face to her, kissing him deeper. It's a little new to do it without glasses in the way – she kind of misses how they looked, she's not going to lie about that, but it's so much easier without having them dig into her face. No reason for him to pull back, complaining her to _watch the glasses_ either. Though she would miss that too, a little – Shaun taking off his glasses was such a nice and easy prelude for sex.

It's all give and take – win some, lose some.

"Let's go get Desmond and see if we can move this to our cabin," Rebecca suggests. "And work out the rest."

"Well," Shaun says, choked. "If you insist."

Of course it doesn't turn out that way, because when is anything that easy. They head to the infirmary to pick up Desmond only to find Gavin there.

"Ah, there you are – I was about to send someone for you," the Mentor says in a tone that kills any hope of them getting a chance to retire for the day. "There's a message for you – or rather, for Desmond. Would one of you…?" he motions towards the tank, where Desmond is swimming idly in the middle, with two tablet computers sitting in the water.

Rebecca hums. "I'll do it," she says, squeezing Shaun's hand. "Good with you?"

"Go ahead, we can always switch later," Shaun says, and Rebecca releases his hand to go to the aquarium.

She glances at the tablets with interest – one of them is resting on the bottom while the other has been propped up on a stand – it looks like the one standing up is the one Desmond has been using the most, drawing schematics on it with his pincers. He's definitely getting better at it.

From the water, Desmond lets out friendly little squeak.

"Hi, Des," she says. "Wanna climb onboard?"

The sound Desmond makes at that sounds almost amused, and with a smile Rebecca leans down to put her mouth to the water. Desmond brushes against her lips fondly and then slides on home in one smooth glide, his tail flicking slightly against her lips before he's gone.

It only takes him a couple of seconds to find his nook and settle in.

 _You guys just can't talk about emotions, huh_? he asks, fond and exasperated.

 _Hey, it works for us. Not too chill about doing it without you, though – it's weird, now. It's like we're doing something behind your back,_ Rebecca admits. _But we're cool now, right?_

 _So as long as you're cool with each other,_ Desmond says. _That's all I want, and I don't want to be the reason you get all stuck up and awkward._

_You're really not._

She lets Desmond take control, and he nods to Chewy, who is looking up from her computer. "Another smooth integration, no issues," he reports and with a nod Chewy makes a mark on the file before going back to work. Then Desmond turns to Shaun.

Shaun coughs, awkward. "Later," he says.

Gavin looks between them interestedly, and then obviously decides it's not any of his business and clears his throat. "In my office, please," he says and motions.

They move to follow the guy, Desmond snatching up Shaun's hand as they go and winding their fingers together. Rebecca can feel his slightest exasperation with them – he really hoped they would get more figured out without him, as if that's how any of this works. But he's still pleased they got something done, so, there's that.

 _You know we don't really_ work _without you, right?_ Rebecca asks. _We weren't a thing before you._

 _You were into each other, I had nothing to do with that,_ Desmond says, a little wistful.

 _Maybe, but it wouldn't have worked, not like it did._ Maybe like, ten years down the line if they hadn't managed to find someone _better,_ but… that expectation of someone better had always been there. They'd dated other people while they'd known each other, and there had never been that expectation that they'd end up together, not really. It was an idea, maybe, but not something that would become reality. Without Desmond they would've always been friends, but… never a couple.

 _None of this works without you,_ Rebecca admits. _You know that, right?_

Desmond sighs. _It just sometimes feels like I'm cheating here,_ he admits ruefully. _I'm in your heads, so of course it's easy, but -_

_It was easy even before you were in our heads, you realise?_

Rebecca tilts her mental head when Desmond doesn't answer, going a little awkward. He didn't realise, did he? He didn't ever realise that. Even now, knowing what they know, feeling what they feel – having direct access to their memories – he doesn't actually _know_.

She wants to kind of poke at it, figure out what _his_ hang-up is, but they come to Gavin's cabin, and it's not really the time or place. Gavin motions them to sit and then takes on a remote, pointing at the TV screen pinned to a wall.

A video starts playing, staticky at first and then clarifying itself into Galina Voronina, with that telltale fracturing of the frame that goes along with Assassin-grade encryption. To prevent Abstergo from decrypting it, the program actually mangles the footage a little, loosing a lot of video fidelity – but it hasn't been cracked by their enemies yet.

 _Galina Voronina?_ Desmond asks.

 _She's a Russian Master Assassin, one of our best,_ Rebecca says. _Shaun knows her better than I do, sorry – he's read her file. I just know her face and name._

"Hello," Galina says on the video, smiling. "And greetings from Seattle. I have been tracking Otso Berg, and I know now what he's been doing. I have many news – most of which I should tell in person, I believe, and all of which are urgent. And I have a demand."

"Demand?" Shaun asks and casts a look at Gavin. "Can't keep your Assassins in order, huh?"

Gavin folds his arms and says nothing.

On the screen Galina continues. "I want to speak to Desmond," she says. "In person. But I don't ask this without something in return – I have a gift," she says, grinning, and then reaches to take the camera in hand. There's a moment of chaotic movement on the screen as she moves with the camera in hand – glimpses of a room, furniture, window with curtains pulled over it, and then she aims the camera at a man, chained to a wheelchair with an IV running to his neck.

"This is Adrian Conrad," Galina says, poking at the unconscious man's cheek. "He has Goa'uld in him – young one, matured just some days ago. This, I think, will be of interest to Desmond." She lifts the camera and turns it to her face again, smiling. "Otso Berg is after us, and I have more people here than just Conrad," she admits. "And not much time to get away, I don't think. I could use a pickup."

With that and another friendly grin, she turns the camera off, leaving the screen dark.

Gavin clears his throat. "Galina has been after Otso Berg since the attack on your previous hideout," he says. "I don't know precisely where she got the Goa'uld, but it sounds like there might have been a scuffle over it. Susan has already set the course, but…"

He looks towards Rebecca and Shaun.

"Huh," Desmond says, feeling curiously blank.

"Bloody hell," Shaun says. "Galina knows about Desmond? Did you tell her – did you tell everyone?"

"Not everyone – but the rumours have spread, there was no stopping that," Gavin admits. "What happened in the marina is pretty well-known among Assassins and Templars. Those who know anything about what happened to Desmond knows he had something to do with it. Galina offered to go after Otso Berg, so she likely has unearthed some other information and put two and two together."

"And why does she want to meet me?" Desmond asks slowly.

"It's likely because of her family," Shaun says. "Either that, or she too wants superpowers – but I doubt it. Galina comes from an old Assassin family, longwinded history in the Russian brotherhood – which made them something of a target early on in the Animus development. They didn't come out of it very well. You know what Animus does – back in the late seventies, it was a lot worse."

"Oh," Desmond says and Rebecca winces mentally. She's read the files, including the _patient_ files for early trials and Animus subjects. Back in the seventies there wasn't much in a way of safety procedures, so… people who used the Animus tended to go, one and all, nuts.

"Also Galina's sister," Shaun says and clears his throat. "She's Subject Eleven."

"Oh man, that's…" Desmond says and grimaces.

"Quite," Shaun agrees and folds his arms. "Of all the Animus subjects used by Abstergo, you came out the best off. Everyone else got the short and brutal end of the stick, and what happened to Galina's sister wasn't any better."

"They've been under careful watch of Assassins since," Gavin agrees. "We do what we can for them, but… So far there hasn't been a cure for that kind of damage."

"So, at a guess, if the rumour of Desmond healing assassin veterans has spread, it would be pretty damn interesting for Galina," Shaun agrees. "Interesting enough for her to apparently find a Goa'uld to give you in return for an audience. Isn't that damn terrifying."

Gavin hums in agreement and looks at Desmond and Rebecca. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I would appreciate it."

"You don't have to ask – I'm already sold," Desmond says. "And I am very curious where the Goa'uld came from. Just – be aware that wherever it came from, I doubt it will be anything like me. I'm a bit of a freak of nature, as Goa'ulds usually go. At least, by the terms of how Goa'uld were, few thousand years back."

"Judging by the looks of it, Galina is prepared – she obviously has the Goa'uld sedated," Gavin says and stands up. "But I will take it under advisement and take all due precautions."

 _Kinda wish we would've managed to finish the cloak by now,_ Rebecca admits. _With a Goa'uld about._

 _Yeah,_ Desmond agrees and thinks bout it. "How long until we make it to Seattle?"

"Couple of days, if the weather doesn't get any worse," Gavin admits. "We're going to have to trust in Galina that she can stay out of Otso Berg's reach in the meantime."

"Two days," Desmond says and then nods. "If we push it, we might have something for the cloak figured out by then." He casts a look at Shaun and adds, apologetically. "But it will take a few all-nighters to get there."

 _Aw, man,_ Rebecca thinks.

Shaun sighs and shakes his head. "Alright – update Rebecca on the designs and jump into me," he says and stands up. "And we can work double time."

* * *

 

It's a bleary morning when they finish the cloak, after straight 39 hours of working on it, and dismantling half of the ship's technology to do it. Gavin grimaces a little at the loss of several computers, and Chewy isn't happy that they dismantled her MRI, but they all agree that it's worth it, for a ship that will go _invisible_. Even cell signal wouldn't penetrate the cloak, sliding over it instead.

Desmond, in Shaun's body, hooks the cloak into the ship's engine under the watchful eyes of Akagi, Emmett and Eric, neither of whom can quite keep up with the technology but are trying anyway. "So it's basically controlled gravitational lensing?" Emmett asks again.

"Kind of," Desmond says, while wiring the cloak generator into the ship's walls. "It's kind of a mixture of gravitational lensing and hologram technology. The lensing throws the incoming waves off, and the hologram patches up what gets thrown off, filling in the holes."

"That thing must drain electricity like a motherfucker," Akagi mutters.

"Oh yeah," Desmond agrees. "Which is why we shouldn't use it all the time – an hour and it will drain the ship's batteries completely."

And then he turns the thing on. It doesn't look like anything from the inside, of course, there's a slight distortion to how things outside the cloak look like – but aside from that, they can see through it just fine. It isn't until they get outside it on a smaller motorboat that they see the _Altaïr_ vanish, the visage shimmering at the very edge of the cloak and then turning completely invisible.

"How come there isn't a hole in the water from where the ship sits?" Eric asks, peering at where the ship should be.

"The hologram patches it up," Rebecca says, eying the open patch of ocean with satisfaction. It might be put together from scraps, but dang – they do good work. "It basically takes the surrounding visual and uses a sort of AI algorithm to derive a fitting image from it."

"Hm," Eric says. "If we can make more of these things, then adding more ships to the Brotherhood might be not such a bad idea. Maybe we could use these cloaks for Assassin bases – maybe even vehicles."

"Oh, yes, invisible cars," Shaun says, rubbing at his eyes. "That doesn't sound dangerous at all."

With the cloak finished, they make the rest of the way to Seattle at speed, cloaking once they get close enough for observation. Because of the highly illegal and not very safe existence of an _invisible ship_ , they don't actually make it fully into the city, staying near the suburbs of Broadview and then sending a motorboat to the shore to pick up Galina and her – guests.

It's not just her, of course – like all active assassins Galina has a team, and between them they are juggling five near-prisoners. There's Adrian Conrad in his wheelchair, nodding off in chains and under heavy sedation, then there's two rather nervous looking men in lab coats, who wince and squirm a little when they're showed in. They're followed by a woman in a rather wrinkled business jacket and pencil skirt, who once probably had a nice updo and makeup, but neither of which have survived the hiding they'd had to do with Galina's people.

Lastly there's a blonde woman, armed to the teeth.

"You have invisible ship now," Galina says, climbing on board with flourish. "I am impressed."

"Yeah, the cloak was just finished," Gavin answers, looking down to where Eric and Galina's teammates usher the other people to climb onboard. "What is this, Galina?"

"These are Adrian Conrad and all of his people in the know," Galina says and leans to the side, to look down as well. "Doctors Keyes and Goodwin, they work for Conrad, and Diana Mendez, his secretary and assistant."

"And her?" Gavin points at the armed woman, who is looking around with suspicious, alarmed look about her face.

"This is Major Samantha Carter of the SGC," Galina says and grins. "She is very good and I like her. She was kidnapped by Conrad, and then they were kidnapped by Otso Berg, and then I rescued them. They all know of Goa'uld."

"Huh," Shaun says, peering over the edge too. "Overkill much, Galina?"

"Ah, Shaun, hello," Galina says and turns to him. "And Rebecca Crane is here too, yes? Where is Desmond?"

Gavin clears his throat sharply. "Go back to where you brought an Air Force Major from the SGC here," he says, sharp and a little reassigned. "Galina, what were you thinking?"

Galina grins. "No better source for information, yes? It seems she knows much – and she was kidnapped because once she hosted a Goa'uld too. I thought she would have information, and she appreciated being rescued," she says and then turns to look at Rebecca. "Desmond is with you?"

"No, Desmond's with Shaun," Rebecca points.

"Desmond is also saying that those," Shaun points at the cuffs the Adrian Conrad has been bound with, "Won't be enough. Can we please get some chains here, some proper, heavy duty chains?"

Gavin sighs, shaking his head, and motions Emmanuel to go and fetch something stronger. "And the rest of our guests?" he asks. "We're not really equipped for this many people, Galina."

"We will not stay for long, and what you do with Conrad and his people is up to you," Galina says. "I still have Otso Berg to find, but I want to speak to Desmond."

Gavin shares a look with Shaun, who sighs and shrugs. "Alright – let's just get everyone on board and get off the coast and little further to the open sea," Gavin says. "And then we can talk. Eric, can you secure this lot?"

"I wouldn't mind a hand!" Eric shouts from the motor boat, annoyed. "This isn't a bloody spectator sport!"

Shaun clears his throat and then Desmond eases into control with flashing eyes. "I should probably tell you the Cloak doesn't block out sound coming from inside the cloak," he says. "If there were people on the shore, they would hear us."

"Right," Gavin says. "Let's pick up the pace then."

It's still a bit of a chaos to get their _guests_ on board. The people tagging after Conrad are nervous enough to be agreeable, but they're also nervous enough to be awkward about it, standing around shivering and giving everyone wide-eyed, wary looks. Of all of them Major Carter is the most confident, but that might have something to do with the rifle she has, the sidearm strapped to her waist and a tack vest she's wearing – which looks a lot like the stuff Otso Berg's people wore.

"This ship is cloaked," Carter says, giving them a look. "How did you get it?"

"Built it," Rebecca says, eying her up and then turning to Shaun and Desmond – they're looking at Conrad thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. Using Eagle Vision, judging by the glimmer. "So, now what?"

"Now we get everyone under the deck and Conrad in proper chains," Gavin says, running a hand through his hair. "And then we figure this out. Secure our guests, please – Susan? Let's get this ship on the way."

The ship's crew moves to comply, while Desmond and Shaun move to follow Eric, who is pushing Conrad's wheelchair towards the stairs. Galina looks after them and then looks at Major Carter. "Be good," she says, pointing a finger at her nose. "Hate to have to kill you."

"I would hate to be killed," Carter shakes her head. "What is this? Who are you people?"

"I told you – Assassins," Galina says, and then heads after Shaun and Desmond.

Rebecca scratches at her neck and then shrugs her shoulders at Carter. If a Master Assassin trusted the woman with this many weapons, Rebecca is inclined to do the same. So far the woman doesn't seem hostile, anyway, just very confused. Probably one of those people who feel more comfortable with weapons. Rebecca can't exactly judge – she's wearing weapons too, now.

"It's a long story," Rebecca says and nods the woman to follow her below decks. "So how did you end up kidnapped?"

Carter hesitates, giving her a look. "I was grabbed on my way from a fitness club," she admits and shakes her head. "I wasn't paying attention. Woke up in custody of Conrad's people, and after that Otso Berg and his people attacked."

"And then Galina swooped in and rescued you."

"I'm still not sure it was a rescue," Carter says with a grimace, gripping the stock of the rifle tighter and then looking at her. "You _built_ a functioning cloak?" she asks, sounding almost confused. " _How_?"

"With several all-nighters," Rebecca says with a shrug.


	10. Chapter 10

_You have to hand it to Galina, she does very thorough work,_ Shaun muses while they read through the files she'd provided – or rather, the pictures of them she'd shared to Shaun's phone. Everything written down was burned during her _rescue_ of Conrad, his people, and Major Carter – but at least she'd made copies. It included analysis on the Goa'uld, medical files both on Adrian Conrad and Major Carter, and a whole lot of paperwork that had gone into procuring them both.

 _Hmm, no word on who spawned the Goa'uld,_ Desmond answers.

 _I don't think they know,_ Shaun answers and glances up. Conrad is being bound to a slab of metal – Desmond's insistence, which no one refuted at this point. The marina incident is still sort of hovering over them, and no one wanted to take their chances. _You sure this guy is a going to be evil? You're not evil._

 _That's because my human side dominates my Goa'uld side, and thank god for that,_ Desmond answers. _Even then it takes conscious effort to stamp the megalomania. Insanity is bred into the whole species – or at least it was, back when Sekhmet was around. In light of that, I'm not really feeling like taking chances._

"What are you going to do with him?" Diana Mendez demands. "You can't keep us prisoner forever – Mr. Conrad is a very important, very influential man, and if a word gets out of his kidnapping – "

"Relax, Ms. Mendez, we have no intention of harming him," Gavin says, considering the chained man and then glancing towards Shaun, and Galina. "What's his colour?"

"Red," Galina says, folding her arms.

 _Desmond, could you – thanks,_ Shaun thinks, as Eagle Vision flashes in and out. "I concur," he says and glances at Galina. "But that's just the Goa'uld – it's likely the host is a different colour."

"According to my research, Adrian Conrad is not terribly corrupt, no," Galina agrees, shrugging. "But he does pay people to do heinous things for him. Kidnapping," she motions towards Major Carter, who is watching the proceedings, still holding a rifle. "And he paid to former operative of NID to procure the Goa'uld, which was in no way legal."

"Illegal activities don't necessarily mean _guilty_ ," Gavin says, stepping a few steps back and few steps forward. "I'm a little lost on the sequence of events here. So, Conrad bought the Goa'uld and kidnapped Major Carter, because…?"

He looks between people and it's Ms. Mendez who answers. "Major Carter has been a host to a Goa'uld," she says, lifting her chin. "And is not anymore. We only wanted to know how it was possible and how to make it happen again – how to remove a Goa'uld from the host, without killing the host."

Carter smiles wryly at that and looks away – obviously she doesn't believe it's possible.

 _… But it is, isn't it?_ Shaun asks. _You leave us all the time._

 _By choice, Shaun. If I didn't choose to go, you wouldn't have any other way to remove me than to kill us both,_ Desmond sighs. _I don't think there is a way, not unless the Goa'uld chooses to leave. Though it is… interesting. Ask Major Carter how she got free of the Goa'uld._

 _Why don't you ask her yourself?_ Shaun asks, and Desmond gives him the emotional impression of giving the eyebrows. _Yeah, I guess you're right. Fine._ "How did the Goa'uld leave you?" Shaun asks, turning to Major Carter. "Some newfangled technology or what?"

"Newfangled?" Carter murmurs, and then shakes her head. "As I was trying to tell these people, before I was so rudely kidnapped, again," she says. "The symbiote I had first of all didn't leave – she died. And the only reason she didn't take me with her is because she made a conscious choice to not kill me – she kept the toxins that usually kill the host from affecting me. My body absorbed her, which gave me the fancy protein markers you think are the key to everything – which they aren't."

Desmond sort of comes to a screeching half. _What_?

"What?" Shaun says, obligingly. "The Goa'uld saved you? A Goa'uld saved you?"

Carter shifts her footing and lifts her head, and says nothing more to him, turning to look at Mendez. "We haven't yet figured out a way to remove a Goa'uld that doesn't want to leave it's host."

"Well maybe you haven't been motivated enough," Mendez says, snootily.

Carter's expression frosts over. "Oh, I think we've been _plenty_ motivated."

"Right," Gavin says, clearing his throat before Mendez can say anything more. "What of Otso Berg, how does he feature in on this?"

"Otso Berg runs a new cell of elite fighters, made of the Abstergo's best recruits and NID's most ruthless operatives," Galina says. "They call it the Sigma Team. They are now in charge of all things Goa'uld – when they get a word of what Conrad was doing, they launched attack to procure the assets for themselves. A very cheap way to procure a living symbiote, after they lost Desmond."

She casts a look and a smile towards Shaun, who clears his throat and folds his arms.

"Right, well. We already guessed as much," Gavin muses.

"And you," Shaun says to Galina. "You just decided to, what the hell, I'm getting in on the action, let's attack Sigma Team?"

"Yes," Galina says, grinning. "They had a convoy – we followed. It wasn't our intent to attack where we did – but then the convoy stopped, and there was a little scuffle. Major Carter," she motions to her, "Attempted to escape. It was good opportunity, so we attacked."

"You're a madwoman."

"Please," she says. "I have seen files on Goa'uld, how they function. You are the mad one. You and Rebecca," she adds, and throws a smile. "The marina incident was a thing of beauty."

"Thanks, I had almost nothing to do with it," Rebecca says, from where she's also perusing the files Galina had brought them.

"Wait," Major Carter says, her eyes widening a little. "Back up a little – there's _another_ Goa'uld?"

"And what does _Abstergo_ have to do with anything?" Mendez asks, making a face.

"Any word on what Abstergo want with Goa'uld?" Gavn asks, ignoring them and looking at Galina. "Or what they wanted with – with what they did with Desmond?"

"It is as you think – splice human DNA with Goa'uld DNA to make it Animus-viable," Galina shrugs. "Desmond was their best shot, but they still have samples of his DNA – but they have no more Goa'uld DNA. If they get another Goa'uld, maybe they can grow another hybrid."

"Hold on – what?" Carter asks sharply.

"They can't," Shaun says. "It doesn't work like that."

"I think they know this, by they will try anyway," Galina says with a shrug. "The potential rewards are too great, if they manage it. However, there is other reason – personal – why Otso Berg is working so hard at it."

"Oh?" Gavin asks, and Rebecca looks up.

"He has sick daughter. She has genetic disorder – cystic fibrosis," Galina says and shrugs. "Abstergo promised to cure her, but have failed – now Otso Berg thinks a Goa'uld symbiote, or medicine derived from one, will be the cure."

 _What is it with everyone being sick all of sudden?_ Shaun asks incredulously.

 _That's just human body being human body,_ Desmond answers, thoughtfully. _That'll mean the guy probably won't stop anytime soon, though._

Shaun makes a face and puts his phone away.

"Right," Gavin says. "So now we're doubly the target we were before. Great." He considers Adrian Conrad and then turns to Shaun. "Is there a way to remove the Goa'uld?"

Shaun blows out a breath and looks at the guy in the slab. He's still heavily sedated – Chewy had thrown something else in there, to make sure. Is he unconscious, though, or pretending to be? Because Desmond can probably throw the sedation off without too much trouble.

 _Yeah, this is not a good place to discuss it,_ Desmond agrees.

"Let's talk about that somewhere not here, shall we?" Shaun asks, moving towards the door.

"I want to speak to Desmond," Galina says, grabbing at his arm. "It is why I came, and brought them. I want to talk."

"Not _here_ , Galina," Shaun says and nods to the unconscious man. "Whatever happens, let's not give warning to the prisoner, hm?"

"Alright," Gavin says, and runs a hand through his hair. "Christ, what a mess. In my office, then. Eric, secure our guests, will you –"

"Excuse me," Major Carter says sharply. "I have some questions – and whatever you're planning to do, I might have some insights which might help you. I know a lot about this… stuff," she says, motioning to Conrad.

Gavin hesitates and then glances at Galina. "Colour?"

She smiles. "Blue," she says with a nod. "I didn't let her keep weapons for no reason."

Shaun squints at Carter until Desmond lets out a mental huff of amusement and his eyes flash to Eagle Vision. _You could just ask,_ the Goa'uld comments.

 _How am I going to figure it out on my own when you're always doing it for me?_ Shaun says and then nods to Gavin. "Blue," he agrees. "But blue doesn't always mean an ally – could be that we just have common enemy in Conrad."

"Ah, Shaun, you have not changed," Galina says and pats his shoulder while moving to leave the cabin. "I am glad."

"In this case, I'm inclined to take what I get," Gavin sighs and motions to Eric to cover the others. "Well then, Major, right this way."

"Wait, hold on, what about us – don't you think we have anything to contribute?" Mendez asks.

"Do they?" Gavin asks.

"No," Galina says, shrugging and leaves.

"Hey!" Mendez snaps.

Gavin casts a look at Shaun, who shrugs in answer. The Mentor nods. "Eric, keep them under control – and watch Conrad. Cameras on him at all time, and no one goes within switching distance."

"Aye."

* * *

It's a little crowded in Gavin's cabin, with Shaun, Rebecca, Galina, Major Carter and Gavin himself there. Even though it is one of the biggest personal cabins on the ship, it's not like the Altaïr is a luxury liner – there's kind of limited space all around.

"How do you people know about this stuff?" Major Carter asks. "And this ship too, the cloak – is it reverse engineered Goa'uld technology?"

"Let's cover the more immediate issues and dangers first, and then we talk explanations," Gavin says, calmly, looking between them all. "We have a potentially hostile Goa'uld on board, and judging by the lengths Desmond demanded we go through to secure the guy, it's something we need to deal with and the sooner the better. Galina, you sedated the man – why?"

"He attempted to attack and escape," Galina says with a shrug. "We were in a motel, and I assume he finished healing the host. I put him down, Major Carter helped, and when it seemed like he would not say down, doctor Keyes suggested lot of sedatives."

"And chaining him to a wheelchair, that was a good call," Major Carter says and looks at them. "Goa'uld's are much stronger physically than regular humans, and they are highly resistant to being drugged or sedated – you're probably right in taking precautions."

"Yes, we know," Gavin says wryly. "And this Goa'uld in Conrad – is it proven to be… evil?" he makes a face at that.

"Well, he did say he wanted to feed my beating heart to me," Galina says cheerfully. "And that we should bow down before him, for he is a god and we should fear him. Never once did he _not_ want to kill me."

"Well, that's cheerful, that is," Shaun says. "Downright neighbourly."

"Well, it goes along with what we already knew, so…" Rebecca shrugs.

"Goa'uld have a racial malice," Carter says, grimacing. "It's hard to believe, but they're really evil from birth. The whole race is genocidal, megalomaniacal and sadistic. With few… very rare exceptions. And this one is definitely not one of them."

Desmond takes over then, asking with surprise. "Wait, there are _known_ exceptions?"

It's like a switch being hit. Carter goes from relaxed to battle ready in an instant, her whole posture changing and her eyes widening as she swings her rifle to bear down on Shaun. She's not the only one to move, though – both Desmond and Rebecca instinctively leap out of the gun's aim, both to different directions, and as they do, Galina puts a knife to Carter's throat. Desmond lets a blade shriek out – other side of the couch, Rebecca does the same, crouched down to make a smaller target.

_Bloody hell._

"Major," Galina says, admonishing. "I like you. Don't make me kill you."

"That man is a Goa'uld," Carter says, even as she grows very still under the knife point.

"And you are a guest – either put it down, or I will take away your toys," Galina says. "Be nice."

Carter hesitates, the rifle still aimed at Desmond.

"Major, please," Gavin says, a revolver in hand, aimed loosely at the floor but ready to fire at the Air Force Officer. "Put it down."

Had it not been Desmond in control, Shaun's sure his heart would be beating double time. Desmond might've given him and Rebecca all the preparedness and training for this, but that doesn't mean Shaun is in any way used to any of this. Desmond, though, Desmond is only coolly prepared for action, not panicked – his mind working fast. If it came down to it, there'd be a smoke bomb and a dead Air Force Major before anyone could even blink. It's kind of intimidating, how coolly calculated the thought is.

Shaun tries to stay calm. He's in best hands imaginable, with Desmond in charge – if it came down to it, Desmond would get him and Rebecca out of this alive. Of that Shaun has no doubt, so he privately resigns himself to muscle strain and a day's recovery to whatever stunt Desmond might have to pull… when the Major makes a decision and very slowly aims the rifle down.

"Why'd you let me have weapons at all, if you're working for a Goa'uld?" Carter asks, confused.

"I'm not working for him – I'm working for _him_ ," Galina says, nodding to Gavin and putting her knife away in a swishy, clever little motion. "We all are."

"What, even the _Goa'uld_?"

"You know, I've never considered that word an insult before now," Desmond comments, straightening Shaun's back slowly and then, with a casual flick of his wrist, retreating the blade "But yes, even the Goa'uld, thanks so much."

Carter scowls at him, then looks at Gavin and then says, slowly, "I don't feel anything from you."

"What's that?" Desmond asks, glancing at Rebecca, making sure she's alright. She looks fine – little alarmed maybe, when their eyes meet, but unharmed.

Carter looks between them and narrows her eyes. "Naquadah, I don't feel any Naquadah from you," she says, suspicious.

"Oh. Yeah – that. I guess I don't have much of that – there wasn't actually all that much of the original Goa'uld left when I was made," Desmond says and shrugs. "You're not going to do anything drastic, right?"

Carter glances at Galina, who gives her a bright smile from under her white hood, and then frowns around the room. "What the hell is going on here?" she asks. "Who are you people really – and where did _he_ come from?" she points at Desmond.

Gavin looks at them, cool as a damn cucumber considering that the woman was waving a rifle about just a moment ago – but, Shaun supposes, thus is the life of an Assassin, complete damn bollocks. The Mentor looks between them and then shakes his head, putting his revolver away. "It's entirely up to you, Desmond."

Shaun pushes his way into control. "Wait, are we seriously leaving deadly weapons in the hands of a woman who just tried to _shoot us_?" he demands. "Because I am not very happy with that, just so that everyone is aware."

"I'm not too thrilled about it either," Rebecca says pointedly.

Carter's eyes narrow suspiciously and she grips the stock of her rifle again, looking between them sharply, as if expecting someone to grab her gun right then.

Gavin glances from Carter to Galina to Shaun and Rebecca and back again. "I would rather this not become an issue, Major – please," he says.

"So much for a rescue, then?" Carter asks, bitter. "Am I a prisoner now?"

"No, but I would prefer you put the safety on, at least," Gavin says, giving her his eyebrows. "What's her colour?"

"Hm. Still blue," Galina says and Shaun hums, not quite agreeing.

"What is that, what do you mean by that?" Carter asks, a little frustrated now.

"Red would mean you are enemy," Galina explains and gives her a smile. "Blue means you are ally. For your sake, you should stay blue, Major."

Carter chews on that for a moment and then, almost begrudgingly, puts the safety back on.

"Thank you, Major," Gavin says and runs a hand over his face. "This has been a weird enough month without having a shootout on my ship," he mutters and looks at Shaun. "Where were we?"

"Well, we were about to be shot and you don't seem to care," Shaun mutters and then rolls his eyes and lets Desmond back in control, feeling his eyes flash and his voice change.

"You said there were exceptions to Goa'uld," Desmond says to Carter, who is watching them warily. "I assume you mean the Goa'uld that was within you, and chose to die without killing you?"

Carter narrows her eyes. "What's it to you?"

 _Oh great, here we go,_ Shaun thinks. _Here comes the paranoia and suspicion and complete disregard of anything resembling of truth from our mouths. This is going to be so fun. And I can't help but notice that she still has all her guns, too!_

 _It'll be fine,_ Desmond says and then sits back down. Rebecca sits down beside him, shifting closer in solidarity. "I'm also one of those exceptions – but my Goa'uld knowledge is some five thousand years out of date, so… I figured I was something of a freak accident and the only one of my kind. There are others?"

Carter hesitates, looking at him. "You're a Tok'ra?" she asks then.

"… Against Ra?" Desmond asks. "Um, I don't know what you mean by that. Isn't Ra dead?"

"Then you aren't one," Carter says severely. "We've seen Goa'uld pretending to be _good_ before, pretending to be Tok'ra. Voice tricks with your host don't make any difference with me – I know Goa'uld can just talk normally. You're not fooling me."

Desmond blinks. "Huh. Okay, what would prove it, then?" he asks, confusedly. _Not that I'm sure what I'm trying to prove here, anyway…_

 _I'm not sure you have to prove anything,_ Shaun answers, annoyed. _Just throw her overboard, would be much easier._

"There's no way you can prove it," Carter says almost derisively.

"Well, I can't even _try_ if you don't tell me how," Desmond says, shrugging. "You have suspicions, there has to be way to way to prove the suspicion true or false. Otherwise I'm just guilty until proven innocent and that's no way to treat people."

Carter gives him a look full of disbelief and distrust. "Fine. Come out of the host," she says, snorting, obviously not believing be would. "Do that and I'll believe you're Tok'ra."

"Okay," Desmond says.

_Desmond, don't you dare –_

Too late – the asshole has already detached from his nervous system and Shaun's not stupid enough to try and swallow him wrong way around, even though he kind of wants to. Extremely vexed now, Shaun catches Desmond in his palms and gives him a glare, "You bloody idiot, don't _do that_ ," he says to the Goa'uld, now curling in his palm. "Especially not with a lunatic woman with a gun and a grudge around! What are you even thinking?"

Desmond lets out a squeak, indignant.

"No, she tried to _shoot us_ ," Shaun snaps. "Don't even try me."

"Holy _Hannah_ ," Carter murmurs, gobsmacked, her riffle drooping down all the way.

"Ugh," Shaun mutters, not sure what he's more disgusted by – Desmond being bloody idiot or the fact that his stupid idea _worked_. "You take him," he says and shoves Desmond at Rebecca – partially because he's seriously pissed and partially because it probably would cement Desmond's point. "And you can keep him, too. Christ."

Rebecca accepts Desmond, giving Shaun a look. "Don't be so rough," she says and Shaun feels the slightest smidge of guilt at that – but just a smidge. Rebecca shakes her head and looks at the serpent. "I am not happy with you either, Desmond," she says, to Desmond's squeaking reply. "Yeah, you're so in the doghouse. Now come here."

Carter is still gaping at them when Rebecca swallows Desmond down. Galina on other hand just looks fascinated – a rather worryingly keen, actually. Shaun wants to tell them both to piss off.

Desmond settles in Rebecca with a wince and flash of gold in her eyes and then casts a look at Shaun. "Sorry, I didn't mean to – it just seemed the fastest way," he says plaintively.

"Don't you even – I'm not talking to you right now," Shaun scowls. "Gave me a bloody heart attack. And today started so well too. Bloody _hell_."

Desmond gives him a regretful look and then sighs, shaking Rebecca's head. "Well?" he asks, turning to Carter. "I hope that was proof enough, because now they're both pissed at me."

"Um – yeah, what?" Carter asks, confused, the rifle held loosely in her arms, pointed at the floor. "But – you just – what?"

Gavin sighs and shakes his head. "Well, now that we're no longer about to shoot each other – Desmond, Rebecca and Shaun excluded, please deal with your relationship issues later, thank you," he says. "Can we now talk about the real true threat present on board this ship, or do we need more ridiculous stunts to cover all our bases?"

"You have loosened up, Gavin," Galina comments, amused. "That was almost a joke."

"My Mentorship so far is a joke," Gavin mutters and runs a hand over his face. "Desmond, Rebecca – the Goa'uld, what do we do about the Goa'uld? Is there anything we _can_ do about it?"

"Um, yeah," Desmond says and clears Rebecca's throat. "You can't remove a Goa'uld safely without their consent, not that I know – but any Goa'uld can leave their host, willingly, the way I can. It's just that most of them don't, because being outside is dangerous and painful and overall not worth it."

"And usually it's too risky for the host," Carter says and points between them. "How did you just do that? Doesn't blending usually take time - and _effort_? And carry a _considerable_ _risk_?

"We've been accustomed to it," Shaun scoffs.

Desmond make makes a face and then bows Rebecca's head a little to give her back control. "Desmond modified us a little for easy switching, because of… reasons that aren't actually any of your business," Rebecca says, folding her arms and turns to Gavin. "It could be that we could persuade the Goa'uld out of its host if we offered it something better – but we would need to have something better to offer. And I'm not sure we do."

"Hmm," Gavin says. "So we will have to leave the poor man the way he is?"

"Either that or lie very convincingly," Shaun agrees.

Carter looks between them, considering. "You seriously want to save the Adrian Conrad?"

"It's in no way personal, I assure you," Gavin says with a wry smile. "But I have seen what a Goa'uld can do," he motions to Rebecca. "And I don't want a hostile one on my ship. If there is no way to remove the Goa'uld…"

Rebecca's eyes flash. "There might be a way," Desmond says.

"Oh god, what _now_?" Shaun demands, giving him a look.

"You said, lie convincingly," Desmond says, looking right back and trying to with Rebecca's eyes convey how terribly sorry he is. Ha, as if Rebecca could ever do puppy-dog-eyes properly. "You might be onto something. Adrian Conrad is sick, right? What does he have?"

"Berchart's syndrome," Galina says, idly browsing her phone. "It's a genetic disorder that affects the immune system, progressively weakening it and leaving the body vulnerable to diseases."

"Genetic," Desmond repeats thoughtfully. "That's not something you can just fix once and be done with it – even Goa'uld can't change host's genetics."

"Isn't that what you did?" Gavin asks, frowning.

"I grew an extra organ inside Shaun and Rebecca – I didn't change their whole genetic structure. If I could do that, I would've given them both Eagle Vision already," Desmond says and narrows his eyes. "Which… actually gives me an idea about how to maybe talk the Goa'uld out of the host."

* * *

Shaun keeps an eye on Carter while Desmond and Rebecca prepare. The whole thing is ridiculous and Shaun doesn't like any of it, but for now he's just going to keep an eye on Carter, who is looking increasingly more baffled by the situation. Galina just seems amused – and maybe little bit irritated, not to have her chance to talk to Desmond, yet.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Carter says, after while of Shaun glaring at her. "It's just – I've had some really bad experiences and with Goa'uld you sort of learn to expect the worst. And I've never seen any one of them do what that one – Desmond? – just did."

"Hmph," Shaun says and gives her a look. "Know a lot of Goa'uld then?"

"Yeah, more than I'd like, to be honest," Carter asks and shakes her head. "Never seen one like this one, though. Even the Tok'ra are… kind of…" she searches for a word. "Aloof, and bit on the superior, self-important side. Where did Desmond come from?"

Shaun folds his arms, considering whether he even wants to answer and then huffs. "Abstergo experiment," he says. "They used a human  – Desmond Miles – and basically infected him with Goa'uld cells. Our Desmond hatched from the resulting mess."

"…Goa'uld don't hatch," Carter says.

"Tell that to Desmond, because he did, and it was disgusting. It was a metamorphic process," Shaun says and gives her a look. "Not really applicable to other people, though, Desmond – the human – had some special genetic mutations that made it possible. Also I am noticing a trend here of you demanding answers and not giving all that many yourself."

Carter blinks and shifts where she stands. "Well… honestly, you seem to know more than I do," she admits. "What do you want to know?"

Shaun considers her. "I barely even have the framework to ask questions," he mutters. "You're from SGC right? You go through the Stargate, mess about in the galaxy, all that rot?"

"In so many words, yes, I suppose," Carter says, looking a bit disturbed. "How do you know about it?"

Shaun ignores the question. "How deeply integrated is Abstergo Industries within the program?"

Carter gives him a confused look. "I don't think they are? We use some smaller tech companies to occasionally trickle down some advanced technologies we discover off world, but Abstergo isn't on the list – the company had too many ties to the government, and also it was suspected to have taken part in the Coalition. Group of high-end companies which were approached by rogue faction of the NID and worked to gain alien technologies for their own profit."

Shaun hums. "Like Zeditron. Weren't they  behind the funding boost NID got a few years back?"

"You know about that too, huh? That was it, yeah. After SGC discovered it, Homeland Security made sure that none of the companies involved would be read into the program in any fashion – I'm pretty sure Abstergo has been on the blacklist ever since."

"Hm. Did something right, then," Shaun says and looks to the screen.

Seems like Rebecca and Desmond have finished. They've dolled themselves up in the best, fanciest stuff on board the _Altaïr II_ – included apparently every single piece of jewellery present. It's weird, seeing Rebecca wearing so much jewellery – worse yet, she has _makeup on_. And not normal makeup – there's dark, feline pattern painted over her eyes, with green mixed in, obviously mimicking the look of galena and malachite powder. Rebecca is also wearing a dress – probably Chewy's. It barely fits Rebecca, and it looks like her bust is about to burst out of it. With her hair done differently too, she barely even looks like Rebecca Crane.

"Wow," Carter mutters.

Shaun scowls and bites his thumbnail, disliking every bit of it. The whole thing is probably being recorded too, which makes it worse. He would have to go in later and systematically delete every video.

Rebecca – or rather, Desmond – is approaching Adrian Conrad, who is awake on the slab he's been bound to.

Galina reaches out to turn the audio up.

"Release me, woman," Conrad demands, his voice distorted the way Desmond's is, but worse. It's guttural, low, and somehow off-tone – Shaun can just imagine how much it would hurt to produce it. "I am your god, you will suffer dearly for this insolence."

"Hmph," Desmond answers, standing beside the other Goa'uld, Rebecca's chin lifted up slightly. "Pitiful."

"You are Goa'uld?!" Conrad demands and strains against the binds. "Release me!"

"Do you think you are really in position to make demands?" Desmond asks, cool, and walks around the slab and the Goa'uld lying on it. "Who spawned you?"

"What?"

"I asked, who spawned you? You came of a Jaffa – you are a mere drone, bred to serve and die and be served," Desmond says, coldly amused. "Who spawned you? Who is the master you were bred to die for?"

The Goa'uld on the slab strains a bit more and then lays down. He swallows and then says through gritted teeth, "Cronus."

Desmond pauses at that and then hums, intrigued. "Cronus. Interesting. Cronus still lives," he says and then continues to walk around the table. "He must have grown powerful in these many years."

"He will slay you where you stand for the indignity you have forced upon me," the Goa'uld snarls.

"Oh, he will not," Desmond says calmly and stops to consider him. "Cronus has powerful lineage, does he not? You were bred with his genetics, to claim loyalty."

"What interest is it to you?" the Goa'uld demands, suspicious.

"Hm," Desmond says and smiles mysteriously, turning away. "Tell me of Cronus," he says, moving around the slab at a stately pace. "How fares he these days?"

Shaun folds his arms, as Desmond coaxes the Goa'uld to talk, to boast about the might of Cronus, wincing a little over another bit of history mangled by the Goa'uld. First Egyptian mythology, now Greek one too. What next – is there a Goa'uld going by the name of Minerva, Juno, Tinia too? Wouldn't that be a laugh, Goa'uld competing with the Precursors over the dominion of Earth.

Actually… another isn't much of a laugh, is it.

"What is he doing?" Galina asks, as they listen in the Goa'uld talk – if it can even be called talking. "Gathering information?"

"I have actually no idea," Shaun admits. "But whatever he's doing, it's working."

"How do you know?" Carter asks.

"The damn smug tilt to his head," Shaun snorts. "Desmond's feeling very pleased with himself."

Carter and Galina squint at the screen but they obviously don't see it. Shaun shrugs and leans back a little, watching, waiting. Desmond isn't much of an actor and neither is Rebecca – the whole thing just looks kind of ridiculous to Shaun, them acting like a queen while also obviously trying not to crack up at it. But somehow the Goa'uld is buying it, watching Desmond closely, suspiciously.

"I could use the genetics of Cronus' line," Desmond muses out loud, which is a bit weird but okay. "Marry the lines of Cronus and Ra to build a greater bloodline."

"Oh?" the Goa'uld on the slap says slowly, his eyes widening, flashing. "What is your name?" the Goa'uld asks slowly, with realisation in his voice.

Desmond glances at him and then lifts Rebecca's chin proudly. "I am Sekhmet," he says. "Of the line of Ra and Mat."

The Goa'ulds eyes flash and his face twists with emotion. "My _Queen_ ," he breathes and bows his head, as much as he can, lying down. "Forgive me, I did not realise. I would be honoured to serve."

Desmond looks down at him, with the most smug, superior look he probably can muster with Rebecca's face. "First, you will need a better host," he says. "That one is defective, and I will not have defective genes in my line. Leave it – without killing it. It is a powerful, valuable host in this world, we can put our progeny to it, and use it to amass wealth."

"Yes, my queen," the Goa'uld says, hesitantly. "Once you procure me another host, of course."

Desmond hesitates and then glances towards the camera. He gives a slight nod of his head.

It wasn't planned, but… what the hell. "I guess that's my cue," Shaun mutters and moves to the door.

"Wait – that Goa'uld isn't like Desmond, it won't come out of you," Carter says, grabbing his arm. "If you go in there –"

"As if Desmond would ever let any other Goa'uld get in me," Shaun says, rolling his eyes, and shrugs out of her hold.

Rebecca looks even weirder, up close – Desmond stands differently in her body, stiffly, like royalty – like someone who knows nothing about healthy posture. Shaun smothers the urge to roll his eyes and steps in front of him, while Desmond stares at him with look of aloof superiority on his face.

The whole thing is a damn farce.

Then Desmond orders, " _Kneel_ ," with a curl at the corner of Rebecca's lips and _oh,_ Shaun's going to remember that one in his dreams.

Slowly he goes down to his knees, teetering somewhere in between finding the whole thing ludicrous, insulting, and also hot beyond belief. Desmond makes it worse by looking down on him and then stroking a hand over Shaun's cheek, all possessive and _hot_. Then Desmond turns to the Goa'uld and holds out his hand to his face. "Come out – without killing the host."

"Yes, my Queen," the Goa'uld says and then, obedient, even eager, it crawls out of Adrian Conrad. Only it doesn't do it like Desmond would – this Goa'uld pierces through the neck, right in the middle. Desmond eyes flash at it and then he grabs the Goa'uld by the neck before it can do more than squirm on the guy's chest.

"There we go," Desmond says, suddenly embarrassed, and bows his head. Rebecca takes over and after taking a moment to shudder a little, she gives the Goa'uld look. "You poor little bastard."

"How the hell did it fall for that?" Shaun asks, struggling up to his feet and quickly adjusting his trousers. "Who falls for something like that? What the hell even was that?"

"Apparently these guys aren't bred to be that smart," Rebecca says, eying the squeaking, trashing symbiote almost sympathetically. "They're bred in huge quantities, hundreds and thousands at a time, and given just enough genetic information so that they won't turn against their queens – or the guys who gave them their genes. They're kind of like the drones of the species."

"Uh-huh," Shaun says, looking between her and the symbiote and coughing. He kind of wants to pin her to a flat surface and mess up the makeup, badly. And then maybe possibly get down on his knees again. Really, really not the time and place. "You look ridiculous," he says, straightening his clothes,

"Ugh, I know, I _feel_ ridiculous," Rebecca says, making a face and shuddering. "I can't wait to wash this crap off."

Shaun breathes out. "Desmond?" he asks.

"Feeling bit weird and embarrassed, channeling Sekhmet," Rebecca reports. "Also thinks you're going to be mad at him."

Hell that would probably be better and less weird. "Right. So, uh. Now what?"

Rebecca looks at the Goa'uld's former host. "I think we should get the doctors in here," she says, while the helpless Goa'uld wraps its tail around her bracelet-adorned wrist. "Conrad's bleeding."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter day  
> Also warning for Goa'uld cannibalism.  
> And probably other nonsense, I have fever, I don't even remember what I wrote here...

Sam isn't at all sure what is even happening anymore. Whoever these people are, whatever they want, it just… it barely even makes sense. Leaving her with weapons, accommodating her demands, answering her questions – and now this?

"How did he just do that?" she asks, confused, turning to Galina. "He just talked that Goa'uld out of its host, like it was no big deal – I've never seen anything like it."

Galina looks at her and then folds her arms, looking a little smug. "It is the Eagle Sense," she says and shrugs. "You see what people want, and if you are smart, you use it, tell people what they want to hear. It is manipulative, yes," she nods, "but effective, if you know how to use it."

"Eagle Sense?" Sam asks, shaking her head. "What's that?"

"The colour," Galina says and looks at her. "It's empathy. I suppose his is stronger – I see people's intent, it is good enough to give warning."

"Empathy? You're – you're saying he has, what, a sixth sense?" Sam asks.

Galina shrugs and apparently doesn't even consider it remarkable enough to explain. "He's good," she says and then moves to head to the door, while on the cameras Rebecca and Shaun are moving to leave the room while the doctors rush in to attend to Adrian Conrad.

When Sam had acquiesced to doing what Galina asked, going where she told them to go, to the _meeting with her people_ … she'd done it more to figure out how deep this went, and what more there was to learn. She expected to uncover some other cell of the NID maybe, or at least some outside party with information about the Goa'uld and aliens, and hopefully find out enough information to deal with them.

She didn't expect this.

Sam hesitates by the door and then takes out the mobile phone she'd gotten from one of the NID men, typing a quick message. "Please stand by," she types, "New developments, possibly time sensitive, must be handled carefully. Not in immediate danger – potential allies. I repeat, please stand by."

She sends, waits to get message of acknowledgement, before quickly hurrying after Galina. She looks around the ship as she does, trying to figure out if there's anything alien about it – but aside from being able to go under a cloak, it looks completely human in make. A fishing vessel maybe, or some sort of exploratory cruiser – definitely not equipped with weaponry, from what she can see. Just a mobile base. Which can go invisible.

It's beyond alarming, finding something like this on _Earth_ – but also, weirdly, humbling. Here you're standing under a mountain, thinking you're on top of everything there's to know about off-world activity – and in your backyard there is a friendly Goa'uld sailing around in an invisible, not space-related, ship.

This is getting up there to being the weirdest week she's had in a while.

Galina leads her to what looks to be an infirmary of some sort – there's a tank there, where the host of Desmond is putting the Goa'uld she talked out of Conrad. The guy himself is being wheeled in by Keyes and Goodwin and someone Sam hasn't met yet, short Asian woman in a lab coat, who probably is part of the ship's own crew.

"Looks like it really did held it's end of the bargain – the opening is small, and it avoided all the major arteries, exciting," the Asian woman says, checking the wound on Conrad's neck. "The wound is closing up too."

"How did you get it out of him?" one of Conrad's doctors asks, amazed.

"It was given proper incentive to leave on its own accord."

"Which, how did you know that would work?" Sam asks, stepping closer to Rebecca and Shaun, who are working on sealing the tank so that the Goa'uld inside it doesn't have any chance of getting out of it. "And you already had a tank ready for it?"

"It's for Desmond," Shaun says, scoffing, while putting away a pair of – wet tablet computers? "For when he decides he needs space."

"And he didn't know it would work – but there was a good chance," Rebecca says and snaps the lid on the aquarium. "Sometimes Goa'uld forget their common sense and go with their ambition instead, and Desmond dangled a pretty big carrot in front of him."

"By pretending to be a Goa'uld Queen, yeah, but," Sam trails away and frowns a little. Over the years SG1 has only ever gotten in contact with two Goa'uld Queens properly – Hathor, which went all sorts of FUBAR, and Amaunet, which was… also not that great, overall. The implication was that Goa'uld Queens were rare, but… but she'd never drawn that realisation to its final conclusion.

"You need a Queen to become a System Lord," Sam murmurs. "Having a Queen is the only way to make Jaffa."

Rebecca glances at her. "We're not – all caught up with how situation stands with Goa'uld right now," she says slowly. "Desmond's information is a little out of date."

"Back when Sekhmet was around, Ra was still the Supreme System Lord," Shaun agrees, folding his arms.

"Sekhmet is the Goa'uld Desmond was – made from?" Sam asks. Shaun shrugs, frowning at her, and she nods slowly. "Since Ra died, the other system lords have been fighting over power. Apophis was the top dog for a while, before he died, after that it's been constant infighting between them – Cronus is actually dead, by the way," she adds and clears her throat. "He was killed last year."

"Huh," Shaun says.

"Explains why the little guy was so eager," Rebecca muses. "If it's anyone's game out there, then having a Queen might mean even a Jaffa drone like him could get some power."

"Jaffa drone?" Sam asks.

"There's no English word for it," Rebecca shrugs. "But the Goa'uld that are put into Jaffa, they aren't exactly the cream of the crop – the Queens only give them the necessary and leave out a lot of the stuff that goes into some other Goa'ulds. Saves the Queen energy on producing them, too, since they have to be pretty much mass-produced."

Sam hesitates, looking between them. "Goa'uld Queens can… choose what information they pass onto their young?" she asks. "Huh. I've never heard about this. How do you know?" And then it dawns on her.

It wasn't an act. Sekhmet really was a Queen – and maybe even one known well enough that the other Goa'uld knew of her. But – they use male pronouns for Desmond? And apparently used a _male_ human to make him, and – what?

Sam looks between Shaun and Rebecca in alarm – these two people, who can apparently _share_ hosting between them because the Goa'uld they host made modifications to them? She gets the urge to ask, again, who these people are and how did they come to know all this stuff – but at this point, it seems a bit redundant. She'd probably be told that they're _assassins_ again, which doesn't really say _anything_.

"Well," Galina says. "Threat over. I want to talk to Desmond now, alone."

"You just don't give up, do you," Shaun mutters and Rebecca gives Galina a look. "Well, let's get over it. Try not to shoot anyone in the meanwhile, Major Carter, that would really put a damper on this nice rapport we have going on."

Sam opens her mouth, closes it and then sighs, resting her hands on the rifle. Galina, Shaun and Rebecca – and the Goa'uld she's hosting – leave, and Sam is left alone in the infirmary with Conrad and his people, the angry seeming Scot who's watching them, and the Asian doctor.

"Did the Goa'uld heal him, did it cure the Berchart's disease?" Mendez demands.

"He has Berchart's?" the Asian woman asks. "We have to take some tests, but I wouldn't hold hope on that. According to Desmond, Goa'uld can't change host's genetics, and Berchart's a genetic disease. How far along is the disease?"

While the doctors work over unconscious Conrad, taking samples and doing a physical, Sam eventually sits down on a nearest bench, unsure what to do but willing to see it through. If her gut is right about these people –and if Desmond is what she thinks he is… yeah. She's good with waiting and seeing where this goes.

* * *

 

The guy apparently in charge – Gavin, Sam thinks – comes for her eventually, approaching her with a cough. "Major," the man says. "Would you come with me – I would like to speak to you in private."

"Gavin?" the angry Scotsman asks, looking up.

"It's fine, both Galina and Desmond approved her," Gavin says with a wave of his hand. "Come on – my office is a little less crowded now."

Sam swings the rifle to her back – she's starting to feel a little silly about hauling it around, but it's comforting, a bit like she's on a proper mission and not at the end of a string of kidnappings. "You really run this show?" she asks, and tries to see if he feels anything from him. Nothing, nothing at all. If there's a Goa'uld in him, it's like Desmond – without a discernible Naquadah signature.

"Unfortunately," Gavin says with a sigh. "Our previous Mentor left a bit of a mess in my hands – including Desmond and all things entailed therein. It's been bit of a shitshow ever since – sorry about dragging you into it."

Sam is a little taken aback by that. It's almost… nice. "Well, the first two kidnappings had nothing to do with you, and the third one was definitely the best one of the lot, so," she shrugs. "Guess I'll forgive you. I still don't quite understand who you people are, or what do you do." They don't seem related to  NID though, which is comforting. Suspicious and definitely into some sort of shady stuff, but these guys aren't covert intelligence operatives.

Though then there's Galina's cheerful, _"We're Assassins!"_ to consider.

"Well, that's a very long story," Gavin says and motions her to his office. "And not only because currently things are a little more confusing than usual, but because our history is long and often convoluted."

"You could start with your mandate," Sam suggests. "You're obviously organised for some reason – I assume you have a goal you work towards."

Gavin smiles, stepping towards his desk and then leaning on it, facing her. He stands at ease and isn't wearing the sort of weaponry Galina, Shaun and Rebecca were – nothing strapped to his bare arms. But there is a revolver at his hip, and knife on the opposite side – and he obviously carries both with confidence of a man who knows, can and will use them.

After the bumbling idiocy of Conrad's lackeys, it's almost a relief, to be in presence of competent combatants again, even if she's not sure of their actual intentions.

"You put me in something of a tricky situation, Major," Gavin says, considering her. "We don't regularly have to deal with official military personnel – for obvious and not so obvious reasons. If it wasn't for your attachment to the SGC, you never would've been brought here."

"I… appreciate the candour, and the way I've been treated," Sam says slowly, warily. "I assume you've let me see all of – this – because you want something from me."

The man doesn't say anything for a moment, folding his arms and considering her. "It's not that simple, actually," he admits. "The reason we let you see all of this is partially because you haven't actually seen anything our enemies don't already know about – Rebecca, Shaun and Desmond notwithstanding, perhaps, but you already know more about Goa'uld than most people do, so that's neither here nor there.

Sam tilts her head a little. "What enemies are you talking about? NID?"

Gavin smiles, wryly. "If only," he says, thinking about it for a moment and then turning away, picking something from his desk drawer. "If it was only NID, things would be relatively simple for us, but sadly it's more complicated. How much do you know about Abstergo Industries?"

Again with Abstergo. "It's a multibillion corporation," Sam answers, shaking her head. "I assume there's more to it."

"Much more," the man agrees and moves away from the desk, a thick folder in hand. "Shall we sit down? This will probably take a while."

Increasingly more worried, Sam moves to one of the couches and takes a seat. "Alright," she says, while easing her hand into her jacket pocket and for the stolen phone, setting it to record. "I'm all ears."

Gavin glances at her hand in her pocket, smiles wryly, and then opens the folder. "Abstergo Industries is a front for the secret order of Knights Templar, an organisation that has been around since late 12th century, and which has been ever since trying to use advanced technologies to control humanity," he begins, and Sam has just enough time to feel mounting incredulity, before the man proceeds to bury her under a mountain of evidence.

* * *

 

Sam sees Shaun and Rebecca again what feels like small eternity later, after Gavin has finished, told her to think about it – and welcomed her to take the file with her. She's then shown into the mess hall of the ship, where people are just starting to gather for dinner.

Shaun and Rebecca are there, sitting at the end of the table, holding hands. And somehow, they are no longer the most alarming thing about all of this, Goa'uld notwithstanding.

"I see Gavin gave you the good old introduction to all things Templar," Shaun comments, seeing the folder. "That must have been a great deal of fun."

"Yeah, it was a pretty wild ride – may I sit?" Sam asks, and glancing at each other they nod. Sam sits down, setting the folder on the table and resting her hand on it. "This is… I definitely didn't expect any of this when all of this started."

"But you expected the kidnapping?" Shaun asks, derisive. "Your life must be very exciting."

Sam snorts. "Like you wouldn't believe," she mutters and then eyes the folder. She has so much research to do – she has to get this file to SGC, get Daniel on it, check up on everything. If even a _smidge_ of this is true…

"So, what do you think?" Rebecca asks, releasing Shaun's hand and turning to her food.

"I don't even know where to begin," Sam admits and leans back a little. "I just wish I was a little more surprised about this. It's not exactly the first conspiracy involving alien technology we've ran into, but it's definitely the biggest."

"There's been others?" Shaun asks, annoyed. "How much of history do they mangle?"

Sam snorts. "You'd have to ask Daniel that – our historian, among other things. He's the one with the unfortunate task of trying to keep track of it all," she says. "But just a couple years back we dismantled a Goa'uld cult here on Earth, which was brainwashing people and had been doing so for thousands of years… if that counts."

Shaun doesn't look too happy to hear it. "Great, another one."

"Well, at least that one's been dealt with. This," Sam taps the folder. "This seems a whole lot bigger."

"Well, you are taking it with great candour, I must say," Shaun snorts. "Welcome to the club and all that – no t-shirts, I'm afraid, but occasionally we come together and have a nice cry about it."

"How to handle messed up stuff is measured on a bell curve," Rebecca comments. "The weirder the crap you've encountered, the easier it gets to handle."

"That sounds like a Desmond-ism," Shaun snorts.

"He's the one who said it," Rebecca agrees.

"Hmph. He can say it himself – why's he being all mum?" Shaun demands and leans back in his chair. "He hasn't taken control in hours."

"He's being a dumbass," Rebecca says and then bows her head. Her eyes flash as she lifts it again, and in control of her voice, Desmond sighs. "I'm _not_ ," he says and shifts where he – she, they? – sit. "I just figured I'd hang around in the background for a bit, seeing as I managed to piss you both off. Give you time to cool off."

Shaun gives him a look and scoffs. "Since when are we people who _cool off_?" he asks. "You're robbing us of an excellent opportunity to have a fight about it, you prick. Own up to your messes, it's what we do – and shout about it and move on."

"You really don't, though," Desmond says flatly, squinting at him. "You deflect and never talk about it again."

"Well, yes, but there's an argument there somewhere, which makes things easier," Shaun says and makes a dismissive motion with his hand. "Gives us opportunity to pretend we got the issue solved."

The look Desmond gives him is not very impressed. He's also a little lost, it looks like. It's weird, seeing a Goa'uld looking confused – embarrassed, even. "I don't like fighting with you guys," Desmond says after a while. "It just makes me feel shitty and I'd rather just not. So can we – can I just say I'm sorry? And not do the fighting bit?"

Shaun looks at him and then deflates a little. "Christ," he mutters and runs a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Desmond says, and judging by the way he and Shaun shift, there might be a footsie going on under the table. "I won't do it again, I promise. Please don't be mad."

" _Christ_ ," Shaun says again, a little stronger. "You're an idiot. Come here."

Okay, Sam takes it back – the thing with these three really _is_ the most bizarre thing about this whole ordeal. Watching Shaun and Rebecca lean over the table, kiss, and _swap a Goa'uld between them_ is beyond weird – and they do it with such casual ease that it's just… it almost feels wrong, how easy it is.

Shaun blinks and his eyes flash. "Oh," Desmond says in realisation, and then rubs at his neck, sheepish. "Oh. Okay, then. I – stand corrected. _Wow_ , Shaun." His accent changes too, along with his the modulation of his voice – from Shaun's sharp and cutting British accent, to Desmond's more casual American one.

Rebecca arches her brows at him then smiles a little. "Told you," she says, presses a peck on his lips and then leans back to sit back down. "You dork."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and clears his throat, leaning back as well.

Sam tries to idly think of a weirder situation than this. Meeting with the Tok'ra, officially, comes to mind. Watching her dad blend with Selmak, maybe. It's up there, definitely. "You guys really – just – do that," she says, motioning between them. "You get no adverse effects from that?"

"Desmond makes sure we won't," Rebecca says, shrugging. "And the mods he made in us make it easier."

"The… organ he grew in you?" Sam asks, trying to picture it.

"Mm-hm. With it he doesn't have to tear through flesh and blood and all that. Makes things easier."

Okay, that… makes certain kind of sense. She didn't know Goa'uld could do that, but apparently she doesn't actually know that much about Goa'uld and how they _could_ do things, if they wanted to. Still, switching hosts… "Why switch at all?" Sam asks, looking at Desmond. "It has to still be pretty risky – why not just pick one and stick to them?"

Desmond gives her a look and then shrugs. "Why would I when I can… not?" he asks. "Besides, that would be unfair to them."

"… You do it to give them freedom?" Sam asks curiously.

"Among other things," Desmond says and then bows his head to let Shaun back in control. "Tch," he says. "You're still thinking of this as something we supposedly have to endure."

"Well," Sam says, awkward.

"The benefits far outstrip the drawbacks," Shaun says. "Perfect health, perfect fitness – Rebecca had chronic pain and I had glasses, just a few weeks back, Desmond fixed both. Extended lifespan – we're looking at, what, two hundred years minimum here? Depending on whether anyone kills us or Desmond invents immortality before then, which he might."

"There's also the stuff Desmond knows," Rebecca says. "Thousands of years worth of knowledge."

"Which is all in a mess and is going to take me _forever_ to sort through, but I'm getting there," Shaun mutters. "Alas, Goa'uld genetic memory doesn't come with a filing system – human one at least has an understandable timeline, but the Goa'uld one? All in one big pile. It's infuriating."

"Then there's Desmond's physical abilities, which are also nice," Rebecca says. "And having instant physical fitness to match them."

"Wait – hold on, human genetic memories?" Sam says, looking between them. "What are you talking about?"

Shaun and Rebecca exchange a look. "Ah, Gavin didn't tell you everything, huh?"

"Abstergo hasn't yet gone public with the project," Rebecca muses. "I think it's going to be released for the Christmas market."

Sam looks warily between them. "… What is?"

Shaun scoffs. "The Animus."

* * *

 

Sam takes air on the deck of the ship, watching the crew mill about. They don't actually do much of actual ship managing – there's the Captain who checks that everything is where it should be, and what looks like engineer tweaking things every now and then, but it's obvious they don't do any actual fishing on the ship. It doesn't really even have any fishing gear, looking more like someone had taken a fishing boat and turned it into a… floating pirate radio station, maybe.

It's not much, for the headquarters of an ancient secret organisation known as the Assassin Brotherhood, which is fighting the secret order of Knights Templar in a secret war that has apparently been going on for centuries – and nowadays includes a whole lot of alien technology, or derivations of it.

She needs to get all this info back to SGC. But it's hard to leave when there's still so much to be learned – about the Assassins, and Desmond. He's a Goa'uld unlike any other – he's not even a Tok'ra, he's… human, in a body of a Goa'uld… who is switching between two human bodies. Willing human bodies. And apparently in romantic relationship with both?

Wonder what that would feel like, being a part of a triad like that, where one member switched _brains_ every so often. Martouf said that he and Lantash felt the same things – when one was in love, so was the other. Did that mean that Desmond had piggybacked on Shaun's and Rebecca's emotions – sharing them between them? Just trying to put it into terms is a little mindblowing.

No one would believe it, without seeing it.

And that was even without getting into the fact that apparently these people can mine _genetic memories_ , that Abstergo has been doing it for a very clear monetary benefit for decades, and apparently some Assassins have inclinations of a Hok'tar.

Sam takes out the phone and considers making the call. No message from SGC, they're still on standby, waiting for her word.

"Have you thought about it?"

Sam looks over her shoulder. "Galina," she says. "Hi. Gavin told you?"

"No, but I can see what he would be thinking," the Assassin says and moves to stand beside her. "It is why I brought you here – according to my research, SGC isn't in league with Abstergo. It could be useful, to ally."

Sam considers that and then puts the phone away. "From what it sounds like, you people are more used to doing things your own way – which apparently includes killing people."

"You kill people also, yes? Being a soldier," Galina says and stretches out her arms. "Abstergo is allying with NID, and many others – we are outmatched and alone. We need friends. I hoped Gavin would agree – Bill didn't."

"Bill?"

"Our previous mentor. He was secular," the Russian says and shrugs. "Very secretive. Gavin is more open, and things are changing now. Desmond changes things."

"By giving you access to advanced technology," Sam says, frowning.

"Among other things," Galina agrees. "History, science, healing, and yes, technology. We have always been outmatched, compared to Templars. Now we have _means_. But we do not have man power – not yet."

"Galina," Gavin's voice calls. "Are you making more deals behind my back?"

"Only pointing out the obvious," Galina says, throwing him a grin. "I will be leaving soon – Otso Berg is still out there. So I thought I would cover my bases, cut through the crap and go."

"What about your deal with Desmond?" Gavin asks, frowning.

"Desmond has made promises, and I know he will keep them," Galina says and turns around to lean back against the railing. "What are you planning for Adrian Conrad?"

"We're making a deal," Gavin shrugs and glances at Sam. "He's still sick, but the Goa'uld boosted up his health back to max, as it is, and cured all the underlying infections. It'll be a few years before the man gets to the same state."

"Huh," Sam says. "And you're just going to let him go?"

"If you want to go after him for the kidnapping, be our guest, take him to court – but please leave us out of it," Gavin says. "We're just satisfied that the Goa'uld is out and not running around, free."

Sam makes a face at that, agreeing. "What are you going to do with the Goa'uld?" she asks warily.

Gavin hesitates and then looks away. "We're going to kill it."

"… ah," Sam says.

"You object?"

Sam grimaces and looks away. Part of her thinks she should insist on taking it back to SGC and figuring out where to go from there… but she also knows where it would lead. The Goa'uld wouldn't be much use in a tank, and SGC wouldn't find it a new host, no way. So it would either be killed and dissected – or NID or some busybody from higher up in the chain of command would decide the knowledge the Goa'uld had was too valuable, and it would need to be hosted and interrogated. And Sam can already imagine how that would go.

"No," Sam says. "How are you going to do it?"

"Quickly and with little pain, I assure you," Gavin says. "We know how to kill painlessly. It's what we do."

Sam nods. "If you do it now – could I take the remains?" she asks. "For study back at the SGC."

Gavin hums and looks at her. "Have you thought about what I've told you?"

"Yes – and I need to go and brief my superiors," Sam says, sighing. "This is – a lot. We need to do our out research, verify all of this, figure out where we go from here. But I expect SGC won't be too against a potential alliance. The whole _assassin_ thing might be an issue, but…"

But they have a friendly Goa'uld, who is apparently making alien technology with earthly means, so… so he's an extreme kidnap risk, should NID ever hear about him. Though considering that Otso Berg is already after these people, that might be a moot point.

Sam gives Gavin a wincing smile. "I don't suppose you could give me something to take back, something useful?"

"Like what?" Gavin asks. "We're already giving you a swathe of our research – and apparently, the Goa'uld's remains. What else do you want?"

"The designs for the cloak wouldn't hurt," Sam offers. "I mean, we know roughly how it works, but we haven't managed to reverse engineer one ourselves, yet. It's only a matter of time, but… it would be a huge tactical help out there, if the time was now and not, say, twenty years down the line."

"Hm," Gavin answers. "Maybe, if your briefing with your people goes well, we can talk about it."

"Giving United States military invisibility technology," Galina points out wryly. "I bet other world governments would be _thrilled_ about that.."

"We have treaties – no alien technologies are to be used in terrestrial conflicts," Sam says.

"Sure," Galina agrees with a wry smile.

"If it ever comes to it, we'll talk about it," Gavin says with a sigh. "But I think we've given you as much as we can."

"Well… honestly, even a _maybe_ is more than most of our allies usually give us," Sam muses. "I'll take it. Thanks."

* * *

 

Desmond is the one to kill the Goa'uld, of course, and it doesn't happen anything like Sam expects. He does it quickly and brutally and with very little ceremony – sticking Shaun's arm into the water, grabbing the Goa'uld before it can try and launch out of the tank. Then, without further ado, he lifts the squirming snake out of the water, holding it in both hands.

And then he bites it in half.

Sam's eyebrows shoot up as she gapes and then she looks at Gavin, who opens his mouth and then sighs, resigned.

"Oh my _god_ , Desmond – _why_?" Rebecca demands, disturbed. "Eurgh!"

"It's a Goa'uld execution – it'd about as close to kind and honourable death they get, if they're not killed in their hosts," Desmond says, making a face and licking the Goa'uld's milky blue blood from Shaun's teeth. "A bit weird, but hey, we're talking about aliens here. It's alien-eat-alien world out there, apparently."

"Oh my god," Rebecca says and covers her eyes. "Shaun gotta be freaking out so badly, the poor asshole."

Desmond bows his head. "Don't be asinine, Rebecca," Shaun says, lowering the two parts of the dead Goa'uld into the container for Sam to carry away. "It's not even the weirdest thing as far as weird cultural traditions go – and symbolic and not so symbolic cannibalism is featured in many of Earth cultures too. Yeah, it's a bit weird for our pristine modern standards, but culture and tradition is messy business. And this one has actual biological benefit."

"What? _How_?" Rebecca demands and then seems to get something that completely goes beyond Sam's understanding. "Oh, of course."

"What?" Sam asks, disturbed.

"Genetic information transfer," Shaun says and seals the container. "It's how Goa'uld steal information from other Goa'uld, apparently – by eating their young. That's how select Goa'uld stay on top of their game, apparently." He makes a face. "Now, if you excuse me, I am going to go brush my teeth a million times."

With that said, he turns on his heel and hurries out. Rebecca throws them a look and then hurries after him, leaving them to deal with the two parts of a dead Goa'uld in a Tupperware container.

"Jesus," Gavin says and closes his eyes, shaking his he'd. "There was a time when people on this ship were sensible, I swear."

"Yeah," Sam says, a little disturbed. "Well, you were right – it was a quick and probably not very painful death." Being _eaten,_ though… There are some things you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, and Sam isn't so sure she would include Goa'uld on that – they have done million worse things than this. Still… it's somehow terribly fitting, that this is how Goa'uld execute each other. Disturbing, and fitting.

The whole species really is crazy, isn't it? God, she hopes Tok'ra don't do anything like this.

"Well," Gavin says, dragging a hand down his face. "With this _lovely_ conclusion to this whole event… where would you like us to drop you off, Major?"

"Anywhere near a public street would be nice," Sam says with a sigh and picks up the container with the Goa'uld remains. "Thanks, Gavin."

"Don't mention it, Major. Seriously. _Don't_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone give me a Goa'uld Desmond to fix my flu, ugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. 
> 
> More alien biology stuff to come but i think if you're still sticking around, the warning is starting to get redundant.
> 
> [Also here's a rough Stargate Episode Viewing Guide For Better Understanding… I guess?](https://esamastation.tumblr.com/post/184661456191/a-rough-stargate-viewing-guide-for-better)


End file.
